Hurt
by Angel on Air
Summary: Edward was the only man Bella has ever loved and know he's getting married to someone else.She runs away trying to forget about it.Years after, she finds out he's about to enter her life again.Suck at summaries my 1st fanfic so dont kill me if I do badly!
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1:Broken**

**A/N: I know this really is theshortest chapter in history of short chapters, it's just it's not really a chapter it's like some kind of prologue if you know what I mean ;) So this is my fisrt ever fanfic so don't kill me if I do a muck up of it. So there it is hope you like it, please let me know what you think about it!! Rating might change aftewards :s**

BPOV

"Will you marry me?"She said, tears glistening in her eyes.

Everyone stood still, waiting for him to reply.'Say yes'the crowd seem to say, all of them with their eyes cast on him, the ony man I've loved.

'Say no, please, please, _please_ say no' I prayed over and over again, even though I knew what was about to happen.

"I will." And then suddenly the whole crowd erupted into loud cheers of congratulations as the couple kissed, seemingly unaware of the people surrounding them. I saw her kissing him, Edward, _my_ Edward.

And my world just fell apart.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: thank you so much for all those people who put this into their favourite stories,you rock guys!! And thanks a million to my first reviewer, j5girl31012, I was just dancing all over my room when I saw I got a review, hehehe :) So okay, the next chapters are going to be more or less the explanation about everyhing that's happened before the event last chapter, in case you didn't understand what was that about ;) Also don't forget to check the dates in the following chapters because chapters will be changing from past to present from time to time.I f you have anymore doubts just PM me or review and I'll answer your questions as soon as possible:D soo..let's get reading!**

Chapter 2: New beginnings

BPOV

Sunday 21st January, 2001

I wave to Mike, shut the front door and let out a long sigh as I trudge back upstairs to my flat. I am filled with an overwhelming sense that I will never be seing him again. Maybe it was the way he said goodbye to me, as if I were a stranger; or maybe it was the way we kissed last night, the feeling of emptiness, of just going through the motions but never really connecting. Or the way he talked about his friends and his job all the way up there, as if his entire life was detached from me. Arrghh. Why did it have to get so complicated?? I suspect that I am a leftover from his life at journailsm college, I don't fit into his new life and never will. Which is probably why made up all those excuses about not coming down to see me since I got back. No one should be to busy to visit their girlfriend; it just doesn't work like that. Not that I blame him entirely. I was the one who left him behind to go travelling for four months when he said his new job came before travelling with me. Looking back now I can see how terribly stupid I was for thinking that we could somehow pick up from where we left it, that he would be waiting for me, eager and faithful. he _certainly _ wasn't eager...and whether he was faithful, I may never know.

Now it's probably a matter of time until the 'official' end comes. Longer gaps between phone calls. More excuses for not meeting up. And then he'll probably call it a day, say that the realtionship has run its course and has nowhere to go.I know that he will probably be right but it still makes me feel sad. "_It was never supposed to be serious" _ a little voice in my head says. I groan and try to make that thought go away. It was never supposed to be seriouis. Ha! Who would actually believe it? It's what you always say so as not to frighten the other person off. But you always end up getting more involved that you meant to at the beginning. You just can't help it. Well, at least I can't anyway. Especially if I love that person.

Thinking about all the things we've shared I see that he probably never really loved me. I was just another notch in his bedpost. My heart wails at this thoughts and I am not surprised to find out that I am crying. I stand still for a few moments, letting my desperate tears run down my cheeks and onto my blouse. _ GREAT. _I wish he were here to see what he hs reduced me o, a jibbering wreck that has nothing better to do than let her tears stain her clothes. I shake my head, trying to gain control over myself and think properly. I must not think about it. I knew that sooner or later it was going to happen, we weren't made for each other.

I sigh again as I go through to the bathroomand turn on the taps, the hot on full, the cold no more than a trickle. Crying over your possibly-soo-to-be- ex-boyfriend isn't exactly the ideal preparation for your first day at your first proper job, is it? I must push it to the back of my mind. I _ must _ think about new beginnings, not about something that may or may not be coming to an end. I feel a rush of adrenaline going through my body as I realise that this time tomorrow I will be able to call myself a journalist. A proper working-in-an-office-8-hours-a-day-and-getting-payed-for-it professional kind of journalist, not a student one. I will be able to call myself a fully fledged member of the only profession I have ever wanted to be part of. I let out a whoop of excitement as I undress and dip a toe tentively in the water to tet the temperature. I squeal as the hot water makes contact against my skin. I t is hot but I like it this way. It means I will be able to stay longer it. It is mild January but this bathroom is draughty, what with two sash windows that rattle in the afternoon breeze and a gap below the door that I haven't got round to doing anything about. _Yet_.

I have only been living in this flat for three weeks. I have a _very _ long list of thing that I need to fix and a grumpy landlord who doesn't seem much bothered as long as I pay the rent on time. Okay, so it may not be a grand mansion with marble pillars at the entrance but I'm not complaining. I love it here. It is my own place. And it really _does feel _ like a mansion after spending four years in shared digs at university and journalism college, four months in dingy little hotels in France and four weeks at my old room in my parents house in the run-up to Christmas. And _yes _let me tell you, this, comparing to everything else, is bliss! I can spend an hour in the bath without anyone hamering on the door every five minutes, walk around in only my undewear and not have to worry about my aromatic oils leaving a mark on my mother's spotless withe enamel bath. I sprinkle a few drops of lavender in the water and then submerge myself up to my neck in the warm water, my dark curls pinned high with only a few strands of hairrunning down my neck. Aaahhh. So relaxing. One of the good things about this flat is that it has one of those old-fashiones huge baths, where you can lose yourself in them, _so _much better than those dinky little things that people have now, no knees-up to your ears business. This, right now is just perfect. I blow out a few bubbles and giggle like a little kid in Christmas, thinking about what is gpoing to happen tomorrow.

_***********************************************************************************************************************_

**R&R PLEASEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! **

**- Angel on Air **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N Umm guys...YOU ARE FREAKING AMAZING!!! So I posted the second chapter the other day and then I went out for a few hours. I go to check the computer and it's like OMG. 17 story alerts. _17_. Swooning. Like wow. hehehe sorry I know I'm boring but I just had to say it :D Anyways, back to the story. This chapter is going to be in the past as well, just like the other chapter; we still got a helluva lot to see until we get to the _catastrophe _ that happened in chapter 1. This chapter tells us a bit about Bella's first day as a reporter in the _Rugby Chronicle _(the newspaper she is working in). And...we get a glimpse of Edward! Yay!And a glimpse of...camels? Oh, well I think i'd better let you find out by yourselfs about that last bit... LET'S GET READING!**

Chapter 3: Another kind of Light

BPOV

Monday 22 January, 2001

I wake up at the drilling sound of my alarm clock and groan as I try to snuggle under the covers again. Why the hell did I have to get up so early!? Then I remember.I've got to go to work. Oh god, I'VE GOT TO GO TO WORK! I feel my body shake with anticipation as I quickly get up and head for the bathroom to shower, mentally scanning my wardrobe for what to wear.

********************

I pause for a moment outside the offices of the _Chronicle_, my knuckles clenched white around the handle of my briefcase.I can do this, I can do this, I _know _I can I chant inside my head. This is what I have always been waiting chance to shine. To make a difference. To be someone! A shot of adrenaline kicks in as I open the door and walk in, hoping I look more confident than I feel. Hoping to look the part.

I smile weakly up at the receptionist, who is reclining over her table ,it looks to me, waiting for a chance of good gossip.

"Hello, I'm Bella Swan, the new reporter."

I have waited for such a long time to say this! It sounds good and so t should. I have practised it long enough.

Oooh yes, _Eddie_ said you were starting today," She says with a little bit too much of excitement, " and by the way, I'm Lauren" She smiles like the all-american-cheerleader (**A/N no offence cheerleaders!) **and readjusts her tiny top over her very large, very fake breasts. With that she presses a button on her phone with a long pink nail and shrieks into the speaker: "EDDIE, THE NEW TRAINEE IS HERE!!!" and giggles like a hiennah. I'm impressed. She is like total-mad-woman. What is wrong with her? But before I can find an answer to my question, I hear light footsteps bouncing down the stairs. I look up. I _stare _at _him. _It takes a lot of me for not to let my mouth hang open in awe. He then looks at me and sort of smile you should need a licence for.

"Hello, Bella, I'm Edward, the news editor," he has a warm voice and and piercing green eyes. I am thrown. I expected a stern middle aged man in a suit.

"Uh, umm, hi..." I blush as I stumble over the words, internally kicking myself to try to gain control over myself again, "p-pleased to meet you"

I smile sheepishly and hold out my hand, hoping with everything I have that my palm is not sweating.

"It's okay, we won't shake hands, too formal," he grins crookedly as he runs a smooth hand through his untamed hair, shining a wonderful bronze colour in the morning light, "Come up and I'll show you around the office before you get started."

He is about to turn round when a shrill voice come from behind me.

"EDDIE! AREN'T YOU GOING TO SAY HELLO TO ME??" Lauren is waving her hand around, practically _throwing _her boobs on top of him.

He blinks for a second before turning back and smiling up at her, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Hey Lauren, had a good morning?" he says politely. She starts to babble endlessly about a broken printer, and I see he discretly rolls his eyes when she isn't looking. He sees me staringand winks. I am suitably dazzled. After a while he somehow manages to get himself out of the conversation and quickly motions for me to follow him upstairs.

"Sorry for that, sometimes Lauren can be a bit too much"his eyes are apollegetic, as we pass the the editor's office, "Simple Simon's out this morning. He 's a bit of a prat but fortunately he's one of those hands-off editors, spends most of his time in one freebie or don't worry if he doesn't remember your name.I've been here two years and he still calls me Edmund sometimes."

He leads me into the newsroom, which is smaller than I remebered from the interview. The computers are relics of a bygone era, piles of newspapers,paper releases and council agendas are scattered over the desks, paint is peeling off the walls. It is all rather shabby and pleases me a lot 's how I've always imagened a newspaper office would look like. A big grin spreads across my face as I stare at everything happily.

Suddenly I hear a faint chuckle and focus my eyes on Edward, who is looking at me, one eyebrow slightly raised.

"I take that you like it," he said, eyes shining with...amusement?I cannot tell.

I smile at him, blushing as I do so, indicating my approval of everything I see.

"Let me introduce you to everyone!"he says softly, leading me over to the far corner where an earnest looking woman, not much older than me, is sitting behind a disturbingly tidy desk trashing the computer keyboard for all it's worth.

"Karen, this is Sarah, our new trainee," he says. Karen looks up

"Hi, pleased to meet you," I say.

She returns the greeting and resumes her key bashing.

She was the trainee before you, " Edward whispers, his breath tickling my ear, "Just qualified distinctions all around. Bit scary if you ask me"

I try to hide my laugh as I raise my eyebrows at him,not sureif he should be telling me this. Edward moves past an exceptionally messy desk, which I pressume is his. I try not to reminds me slightly of my the desk is a pisture of Maggie Thatcher leaving Downing street for the last time with tears in her eyes under the headline 'Maggie, Maggie, Maggie,Out,Out,Out.' I decide to pass no comment.

"And this lovely lady here,Bella" says Edward, proudly extending his arm like a game show host, "Is our wonderful Angela Webber!"

A woman in her high twenties, whose desk is surrounded by an arrange of colourful pot plants, pretends to slap Edward across the face and grins at me.

"Hi no notice of him, he's a prize you need to know ask me."

I nod and return the grin.

"Here's your desk, Bella" says Edward, tapping the desk opposite Angela,"We've had it decontaminated since Paul left, but if you find anything in the drawers I wouldn't touch it without gloves.I'll quickly show you round upstairs while I get you a coffee"

"Hey, what about the rest of us?" Angela asks.

"You can get your own, it's not your first day here" Edward winks and beckons me to follow him upstairs.

"She seems nice"

"She is. And you'll learn a lot from her. Best journalist I've worked with. Ex Fleet-Street in fact"

"Really? So how come's she's here?" I realise a little too late that that sounded rude but Edward doesn't seem to take offense.

"Taken out. Fed up of working with a bunch of uptight wankers that only rip-off other people's stories. "he explains, "She should be news editor here by rughts, but she doesn't wan the hassle, prefers to enjoy herself and take it easy, which is fine by me."

We reach the top of the stairs.

"This is the kitchen," he says, showing me around of what is basically a broom cupboard with a butler's sink and a kettle,"How do you like your coffee?"

"Err, white please, one sugar" I blush as,once again, I have got caught gaping at his tall lips twitch, but he doesn't say anything.

"Thank God, someone else who takes sugar!We'll have to form a breakaway coffee circle"

He fills the kettle up and flicks it on.I am concious of being with him in a confined space as he brushes past me.

"You smell nice" he says.

I blush, wishing I had decided against the perfume.

"Sorry.I didn't mean to sound creepy.I'm really sorry"he closes his eyes. "It's just that Paul, the guy you replaced,had a serious body odour. Stunk the place eyes. I suddenly feel the need to be closer to him,to touch him. It takes a lot of me to resist.

I start laughing trying to get that thought breaks the tension. Edward is laughing too.

"So when people tell you you're a breath of fresh air after him, you 'll know what they mean.

"Thanks, I promise to take particular care in my personal hygiene" His eyes light up at my teasing and little smile spreads over his face.

"Good,"Edward say, still smiling, "And now that we've got that one sorted, I'll show you photographic."

He leads into a large room at the far end of the men in their fifties are slumped over their desks perusin the sports page of the tabloids.

"Guys, meet Bella, our new reporter. Bella, this is Bill and Ted, no wisecracks about their excellent adventure, they've heard them all before"

"Hello, "I and Ted look up and nod their greetings.

"Bloody hell! I must be getting old, "Says Bill, "The trainees are starting to look as young as my kids,"

I smile politely.

"Take no notice, "Edward says, "He's bitter and twisted because our trainee photographer Seth won an award and he didn't. "

"Must have been your expert tuition that helped him" I say.

"Hey, she's smart as well as pretty!" Ted chips in.

"Come on" says Edward, rolling his eyes comically,"We'll leave this pair together to get back to their work."

We return to the kitchen."They're the last two surviving examples of prehistoric man known to be living in Rugby,"Edward says as he hands me my coffee.

"Don't worry, I can handle them."

"I'm sure you can," He says, smiling crookedly at heart falters"He leads me back downstairs to the newsroom.

"And there concludes your grand tour"He bows mockingly, "Any questions?"

"Er, no, I don't think so."

"Great. Angela will show you the ropes today and take you down to the police calls later. I'll sort some press releases and bits and pieces to get you started."

"You haven't told Bella yet, have you?" Angela says looking up from her screen.

"Told her what?"

"About this first assignment"

I look at is trying not to laugh.

"Go on" I say.

"Tell me, Isabella Swan" my full name even seems _pretty_ when it comes from his lips "Are you the sort of woman who is prepared to tackle anything thrown her way?"Who is willing to rise to any challenge that top-flight local newspaper journalism presents?"

"Yep, just tell what it is"

Edward fixes me with a mischievous grin. "Camel racing."

I am not sure if he's serious or if this is just a bizarre initiation ceremony all trainees have to go through.

"Fantastic!" I say." I've never ridden a camel but I can ride a horse if that helps."

"I'm sure it will"he says, "A guy in Lutterworth is holding a charity camel race on his farm.I thought it sounded kind of fun which is why I've entered you. We just want a nice colour piece from it."

I nod enthusiastically.I smile as I sit down at my new adventure begins here. It is all I can do not to kick up my heels and spin around on the chair.

*************************

I am sitting astride a bad - tempered camel named Humphrey, trying desperately to hang on as he lumbers his way across a muddy field, seemingly intent on going the opposite direction from everyone else. The black long skirt I'd put on thsi morning riding is riding high on my tighs and my hair is blowing everywhere and it is beggining to rain. And all the while I can see Ted out of the corner of my eye, snapping away with his camera, capturating every bone-shaking moment on film. The other competitors were so far ahead of me I'd given up on the idea of catching that I have a say in the is clearly the one in charge.

"I'm glad I didn't back you."Ted hollers from below.

"Thanks for your _support_"

"Give him some welly girl, "urges Ted, " agood kick in the ribs should get him going."

I follow Ted's advice but Humphrey responds by digging his toes into the grass and stopping abruptly, sending me into the air only to arrive back down in the most uncomfortable part of the saddle. I wince in pain, glare at Ted, who is howling with laughter behind his lens, and try a different tactic.

"Oh, Humphrey, you absolutely gorgeous great camel, _please, _catchup the others, will you?

And believe it or not, the polite approach seems to strike a chord with Humphrey and he trots up the field. Although I came a resounding last I let out a whoop with delight as I cross the finishing I am loving being alive. Loving being out there, experiencing new things, doing something a little crazy.

I arrive back at the office battered and smelling distinctly less fragant than when I departed. I clatter up the stairs after a meanful smile from Lauren and walk straight upto Edward's desk.

"This is for you," I say, handing him a package wrapped in several layers of newpaper.

He appears taken aback.

"What is it?" he asks, looking suitably intrigued.

"My and see."

Edward peels back the paper and peers inside at the small brown pellets,throwing his head back to roar with laughter.

"What is it" Angela asks.

"It appear to be camel dung,"he says eventually.

"I came last,"I say, "But it's the taking part that counts. And the owner said it makes very good fuel if you ever feel the need to joina Beduin tribe.

"Thank you" Edward says, his eyes sparkling with amusement, " I shall keep it and think of you always."

I turn around and walk back to my desk, a huge smile on my face. I am going to like it here.

**So. What d'ya think? Like it, hate it? Good? bad? I don't know you've got tell me!! So look down...yep...more..yeah that's little green button is not there as decoration. REVIEW? please? pretty please? Great! I hoped you liked this chapter, it took a while to write, sorry it's sooooo enormously long, maybe I should have seperated it into two chapters. Anyways I'll try to update next chapter soon as pos!**

P.S.**I HEART HUMPHREY THE CAMEL. He 's great! I just had to say it. :D**

**_-Angel on Air_**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hiyaa people!! iT'S ME AGAIN!;okay, random. C: Anyway, thank you so much to all the people who put this story in to their favourite list and/or gave it story alerts, you rock guys!! I especially want to thanks Mist in the valley her reviews are just too good :D(Not that I only accept good reviews, I accept constructive critiscm as well but no trash along the lines of 'Man, that was so darn horrible'cuz that really doesn't help at all, does it now?). Ah bytheway, last chapter I said something about it being long, I know it wasn't, it just took a lot of time to write and I was about to delete the whole story by the time I'd finished it. So back to the story; Bella officialy leaves Mike(SO SAD D':) and is quickly starting to fall for someone else. Love is not that easy though. So enough of my yapping,LET'S GET READING!**

Chapter 4: Don't let the Sun go Down on Me

BPOV

Friday 14th February, 2001

_"It is a couple of hours after I return home from a long day of rainy camel races that Mike rings. He asks me how my first day went. I begin to give him a rundown, babbling like a school kid recounting her first holiday._

_"Great," he says when I finally pause for breath. It is then I know. That he is being polite. That the real reason for this phone call is not to enquire how my day has been._

_"What's up?"_

_"I need to talk to you," he says._

_I resist the temptation to point out that we have just spent the weekend together. _

_"Oh."I say," What about?" _

_"Us. I need to be honest with you; I don't think this is going anywhere. I was going to suggest we give it a break. See how we feel after a month or so."_

_It hurts even though I have been expecting this. Even though he is trying to soften the blow, making it sound like a joint decision when he is actually dumping me. _

_"Fine" I say, "You're probably right. A break might do us good."_

_He agrees although we both know this is not the case. We won't get back together. This is the end. _

_"At least it sounds like you will have lots of stuff to keep you busy at work." says Mike. Maybe this is what he was waiting for, me to start working so he would not feel so guilty about dumping me. Though I still think he should have had the decency to do it face to face._

_"Yeah.I'll drop you an e-mail sometime, to let you know how it's going." _

_"That would be great!" he says, much too enthusiastically. I want to get of the phone now. I don't believe in prolonging the agony. _

_"Right, well.I'd better let you go."_

_" Sure, take care, Bella" and he with that he is gone. I put the phone down and am surprised to find myself crying. Little tears that hug the rims of my eyes. I am always the same with ending. I find it hard. We were together for ten months. Now, I will probably never see him again. If I'm lucky I will get an e-mail, maybe even a card next Christmas but probably not the one after that._

_I go to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of wine, empytying the last dregs of the unfinished bottle in the fridge. The one I had shared with Mike only 24 hours ago. I take it back into the room and sit quietly on the bed,thinking how strange it is, the way things change so quickly."_

"WHAT WAS THAT!?" I say to myself, minutes after waking up. Jeez, I had just dreamt about my breakup with Mike, and it happened three weeks ago. On Valentine's day. Fantastic. I glance at my alarm clock. It 's seven a.m and I should still be sleeping, if that stupid dream hadn't woken me up. I don't want to have bags under my eyes on Valentine's day. I don't want Edward seeing me like this._Wait. Did I just start thinking about... no no, it surely was a mistake._ A BIG MISTAKE. Then I realise. I can't even fool myself.I've been thinking about Edward ever since I met him,he is in my dreams every time I close my eyes and every second I am at the office. I know it's not good, but I just can't help myself.

***************************

I sit with my back to Edward but I am aware of his presence. He is looking at me. I know that. Sometimes I wish he wouldn't look, it makes things awkward, what with me being the new girl and him being my boss. But today, Valentine's day, I can't help being glad. I swivel my chair, a kind of coded aknowledgement. For some reason I assume he will understand the signal, although it is not something we have discussed.

Three weeks I have known him yet it feels like a lifetime. I do not make a habit of this. Falling for someone so quickly. It has never happened to me before. I don't even think I believed in it. Previous boyfriends have always grown on me. Friendships that drifted into relationships, fizzled out and drifted back again. Like Mike. This is something entirely different. Though of course he is not my boyfriend. And almost certainly never is clearly out of my league.

I am aware that I may be on rebound. And that Edward was the first friendly face I saw after I was dumped by Mike. But it doens't feel like a rebound thing. It doesn't feel of anything I have ever experienced before. I feel his eyes watching me as I twirl a long strand of my wild, dark hair around my finger. Winding it tight before releasing it and letting it spring free; an untamed gypsy curl. I think of Edward's hair and sigh. His hair has the most beautiful shade of bronze imaginable, so deep, contrasting perfectly with his sparkling green eyes.

I am staring at my computer. My eyes aren't focused properly. I can't see the words clearly, only the spaces in between. I stand up, pushing my chair away with the back of my knees. I take the tray from the top of the cupboard and start collecting everyone's mugs.

"Thanks, Bella"Angela says. I haven't done anything yet. Just taken her mug. She is embarassed because I do this more often than she often than all of them put together in fact. But I am supposed to, I am the trainee after weeks into her first job. And the truth is I like making the tea because it gives me the opportunity to contact.

Edward is on the phone. He sees me coming and picks up his mug, holding it out to me. He smiles his oh-so-gorgeous-crooked smile and leaves his fingers there so I can touch them as I take it. The mug is still warm from his last coffee. Black, one sugar. Reluctantly I place it on the tray while I gather the remaining two and take them upstars to the kitchen. I pop to the loo while I wait for the kettle to boil. Just the one tiny cubicle for women, with barely enough room to squeeze inside the door and the loo roll positioned in the most inconvenient place possible, so that you have to perform something resembling a yoga position to get it. I glance at the mirror as I wash my hands. My skin looks brand new;there is practically dew on it. My eyes have opened wider; my hair has grown glossier since this morning. I am a calendar picture of Spring, with the promise of good times to come. I smile at myself and hurry back to the kitchen.

There is no fridge. We buy a pint of milk in the morning and hope it lasts till the end of the day without going off. I lift the carton to my nose and sniff. A hint of sourness but not enough to warrant a trip to the shops. We can get away with it in February. By the sumer, I suspect I shall too drink my coffee black in the afternoons.

I give the mugs a cursory rinse under the taps;we're out of washing liquid. Edward's mug has 'Smash the state' in big red letters. It also has a chip in the rim. Angela's mug has poppies. Dave's is Coventry City FC. Karen's has Candyfloss stripes. Mine is black. Dark and mysterious or plain and uncomplicated, whatever you care to think. I distribute the coffee and the tea bags to the appropiate mugs and add boiling water, milk and sugar to taste. I have a colour chart in my head of how everyone likes it, that way I don't have complaints. I descend the stairs gingerly with the tray, trying not slop too much liquid at the sides, smiling as I think of the doddery waitress Julie Walters plays in the Victoria Wood thing. The one who says, 'Two soups'. I go to Edward's desk first. He is off the phone now.

"Thanks, Bella" He says it as if I have just given him a life-saving kidney transplant, not a mug off coffee."Are you coming over the road later?"

Someone in advertising whom I don't know is having a leaving do at O'Neill's.

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Good," he says, like means it."You never know, might even buy you a drink."

His mouth is smiling, his eyes are smiling too. I am mesmerised. It is all I can do to move. As I walk away, someof the tea slops over the side of the fullest mug. I hand it to Dave who mutters something about half measures. I am used to him already, though,and take no notice. Karen thanks me without looking up from her computer screen. I am used to that as well. I turn and walk back to my end of the office. As I do I hear Edward laughing. Angela is pointing frantically and mouthing something to me. I cannot work out what she is trying to tell me. They are all laughing now, even Dave. I have no idea what the joke is about but as I stand frozen to the spot with the tea tray I am suddenly aware of a draught on the back of my tighs. Before I can do anything, Angela rushes up, pulls te back of my skirt out of my lacy blue knickers and restores me to a proper state of decency. I groan inwardly, cursing the confines of the toilet cubicle and making a mental note to check myself in the future.

I glance around at the others. Edward is trying hard to restore his face to neutral.

"It's funny, I never had you down as the bunny girl type," he says.

"It made me a bit of extra cash while I was student.I'll wear the ears tomorrow as well, if you like." I say, hurriedly handing Angela her mug and returning to my desk.

"I'll look forward to it."Edward says.

I type busily,allowing the colour to fade from my cheeks before glancing over my is still smiling. As I turn around I catch Angela's eye and realise I'm smiling as well. A few minutes later calls out that there is a certain Mrs. Hurst in reception, asking to see a reporter.

"I'll go," I say, welcoming the chance to hide my blushes and grabbing my notebook and heading for the door before anyone else has a chance to move. When I get downstairs,Lauren giggles and points to a tall, dark-haired woman standing with her back to me, gazing out of the window across the street.

"Mrs. Husrt?" I say, as I approach.

She turns around, revealing a grey streak in her hair and a very large boil on her nose.

"I'm Bella Swan. Umm, how may help you?"  
She gestures for me to come closer.

"I have evidence," she whispers theatrically, " Of contact from beyond the grave"

I nod, fearing the worst. Angela has warned me about people like her. Mrs Hurst delves into her capacious shopping bag and produces a candelabra which she proceeds to place on a pile of newspapers sitting on the front counter. Fortunately she doesn't attempt to light it. I am well aware that naked flames in reception are against th fire regulations.

"Who is it you've been contacted by?" I whisper back, because well, one does.

She beckons me closer again. "John Lennon" She replies. I am pleseantly surprised. I expected it to be more C-list. Diana Doors, perhaps.

"And the evidence you've mentioned?"

She shuts her eyes for a moment. I wonder if she is trying to contact with him now.

"He left me his autograph," she whipers, " I was drawn to it by a force beyond this world. I knew exactly where to find it.

"And where was that?" I ask, bringing the actress inside of me.

"The bakery in Hillmorton High Street." She says.

I nod. This is getting better all the time.

"You don't happen to have it with you, do you?" I ask.

"Oh yes!" she says. She delves again into her shoping bag and carefully removes the silver cake board upon which sits a round cake, about twenty centimetres across. It is covered in white icing, scalloped shells round the edge, a yellow ribbon tied around it. And in the middle, in pale yellow icing, is piped a single word in shaky lettering. "lemon"

I look away, struggling to compose myself for a moment. And dying to share this with Edward.

"It's remarkable, isn't it?" she says admiringly.

"Absolutely.I've never seen anything quite so remarkable in my life. In fact, do you mind if I call my news editor? I think he should see it."

I ring upstairs for Edward. He bounds downstairs on the promise of a world exclusive, only to be confronted with the lemon cake.

"This lady has found a cake signed by John Lennon in the bakery in Hillmorton." I tell him.

Edward looks at me,the cake, and back at me. I see his shoulders shake as he looks down at the floor.

"You piss-taker, Swan," he says, as we walk back upstairs together after Mrs. Hurst has departed, taking her autographed cake with her.

"C'mon, you wouldn't have wanted to miss it," I say.

"You're right. The _Sport _would have loved that, you know. I can see the headline already. "Lennon in Love me Dough shock".

I am still smiling as I sit down at my desk. I return to writing up my reports from police calls this morning. Two houses burgled in Brownsover,a man exposing himself to some ramblers and several cars being broken in the multy-storey car park in town. I ask Angela what constitutes a spate.

"Anything more than two" She says without hesitating

I nod and start again on the intro. My phone rings. I pick it up.

"Hi, I'm calling from Sotheby's press office," the male caller says,"We've got an auction coming up and a couple of the items have got local interest for you."

"Oh great, " I say,"Let me take down some details."

"Well, we've got the boots worn by William Webb Ellis when he was at Rugby School and first picked up the ball and ran with it."

"That's fantastic" I say. Aware this is shaping into a good story.

"And the other item, the one I think you'll be really excited about, is the handwritten lyrics to 'Imagine' by John Lennon. They were donated to us by a woman in Rugby, and the interesting thing is that they were written in yellow icing."

For a second I am unsure what to, but then I glance over my shoulder. Edward isn't at his desk.

"You bastard" I say down the phone.

Angela looks up at me, startled. A second later Edward sticks his head round the door, mobile phone still pressed to his ear, a huge grin across his face.

"I had you there" he says.

"Yep, fell for it. Hook,line and sinker."

"Is he bothering you,Bells?" says Angela, "I can have him thrown out if you want."

"No it's okay," I say," Just a bit of harmless fun"

At exactly five o'clock Edward turns off his computer. Everyone else does the same. I realise they are waiting for me. I'm halfway through a story. This is supposed to be a newspaper office! I want people tu run around.I want to work through the night. I want to be Wood or Bernstein.

"Come on Bella" Edward says,"That can wait until Monday"

He is right, of course. Because this is the _Rugby Chronicle_, not the _Washington Post_. I do as I am told and grab my jacket on the way out.

O'Neill's is quiet, only a couple of old boys and the advertising crown who are already esconced in a corner.

"What are you having?" Edward is looking at me. So is everyone else.

"Half a Stella, please," I haven't socialized with them yet but I guess that's what they'll be drinking.

"You don't strike as a lager drinker." he says.

"I'm not normally."

"So, what's your usual?"

"Vodka and orange"

"One screwdriver coming up!"

"No there's no need. Lager's fine, honestly."

"He looks at me and turns on that smile."It's a pleasure." _remember to keep breathing, idiot!_ I scold myself.

I wait with the others until the drinks come and follow them over an empty table.

"Aren't we joining them?" I say, nodding in the direction of the advertising people.

"Nah, bunch of bastards,"Edward says. I laugh and take a sip of my vodka. I shuffle along the bench and settle into a corner.

"So Bella, are you enjoying it?" he says, sitting down next to me. He makes me feel like the others aren't there. That it is just the two of us.

"Yeah, apart form the wind-up merchant in the office, I've loved every minute of it."

"Even the camel racing?" He says with a grin.

"_Especially _the camel racing. It does you good to do something a little crazy once in a while. And Humphrey was a nice enough camel."

"I'll remember that," he says, and takes a swig from his bottle of Becks. His baggy, collarless shirt has the top two buttons undone. He goes to the gym four or five times a week. It a shows. I wonder if he knows how good he looks.I suspect he does.

"So, to what journo college did you go?"he asks.

"Stradbroke, Sheffield."

"Aah, the people's South Republic of Yorkshire"he says."I remember it well"

"Hey, I loved it there,"I say,"People are friendlier up north."

"Yeah, the weather's crap though. You didn't get that light tan in Sheffield."

I blush and shake my head,"I've been travelling since I left college. France and Italy mostly."

"Ah, that explains it" he says.

"What?"

"You have an exotic air about you, not usually found in women hailing from Leamington Spa"

I'm aware I'm blusing. And that he has read my CV.I take a sip of my Vodka. It gives me something to do with my hands.

"Rugby must be quite a come-down after Florence" he says.

"Yeah, I've had a lot of trouble finding a good pizza parlour."

He laughs. His eyes haven't moved from my face since we sat down. He doesn't say anything, he wants me to continue. He wants to know more about me.I don't think the others are listening any more. We are in a world of our own.

"I was ready to come back. I couldn't wait to get started,to be honest."

"Always wanted to be a journalist?"

"Yep"

"Never mind. You'll get over it."

He opens a packet of peanuts which are on the table and offers them to me. I shake my head. He pours some into his cuppd hand and tips his head as he pops them into his mouth. I notice a couple of grains of salt caught in his stubble. I want to reach out and brush them off. Like I want to sweep back the stray strand of hair whick keeps falling into his eyes.

"So how come you haven't got a hot date lined up for Valentine's night then?" he asks.

"Because my boyfriend's just dumped me."

"Ooops, put my foot in there."

"It's all right. You weren't to know."

"What a bastard, dumping you before Valentine's day."

"There's never a good time, is there?" I smile sadly.

"I hope he had a good excuse."

"He said it wasn't going anywhere. And that he was busy at work."

"A mug as well as a bastard. I bet he's a journalist,isn't he?"

I nod,deciding not to reveal any more details than that.

"Knew it. Steer clear of them.I tell you. Not to be trusted. Nasty swines"

I laugh, hoping he isn't including himself in that sweeping generalisation." Thanks for the advice. I'll remember that."

He smiles at me, opens his mouth to say something and then thinks better of it.I'm aware that the others are talking amongst themselves. He is paying me too much atention. He leans back on the seat and stretches his arm out along the top of it behind me. I shuffle forward,knowing it would be wrong to allow contact.

"We're having a union meeting in here next Thursday after work," he says.

"Right.I'll try to make it."  
"Actually, you've got no choice in the matter."

"Closed shop, is it?" I joke.

"Yeah,as good as. Those shits would suck the blood from us if they could."

"And the union can save our souls."

I am smiling as I say it. I know it is risky, trying to challenge him like this. It's not really my place. Edward turns and looks at me. A fire is dancing behind his eyes. A fire I have ignited.

"Do I detect a hint of sarcasm?"

"All the power's been taken away, hasn't it?Nothing we can do till Labour get back in."

"You think Blair'd be any better? He's a closet Tory."

"He's the only chance we've got."

"There are other ways."

"I know, come the revolution..."

"Hey, we have a sceptic in our midst" Edward says, smirking. He is not annoyed, though. I can tell he is loving this.

"Let's just say I've yet to be convinced."

"Fine,"he says, smiling," I like a challenge"

He looks at me in a way that makes me feel uncomfortable. Like he can see straight through my most intimate secrets. If we were alone I think he would have kissed me now. But we are not alone. The others have stopped talking.I look up and see a woman standing there, all beauty, legs,sophistication and immaculetly applied lipstick.I don't know who she is but I hate her.

"Hey, great, you've managed to make it early," Edward slips his arm out from behind me so quickly I feel the air rush past my bare neck. He jumps up and kisses her on the lips.

I nearly choke on vodka. I put the glass down heavily on the table, missing the beer mat. Angela looks across at me. I am well aware that my eyes are bulging like a cartoon character's. Edward has a girlfriend. And I had no fucking idea.

"Bella, this is Tanya,"Edward says, rather looking at me left shoulder than my face. I put on what I hope is a smile, unable to utter a word." Tanya, this is Bella, our new reporter."Tanya looks at me with no hint of a smile.

"Oh yes, the trainee," she says.I feel about thirteen years old again. Tanya sits down opposite me making no attempt on conversation. The others say hello to her. They don't seem very enthusiastic.

"Do you want a drink, Tanya? "asks Angela," It's my round next."

"No, thanks, I'm not stoping. We 're going for a meal before we catch a film."

"Where are you taking her , Edward?" Angela asks,"Somewhere nice, I hope."

"Just for a curry at Titash across the road. They give every woman a free red rose, you see. They save me a fortune on flowers."

"And they say romance is dead" Angela says, shaking her head.

Tanya is smiling. Nick is smiling too. I suspect he sent her a dozen red roses this morning but obviously he's not going to admit this in front of us. He hurriedly finishes his bottle of hasn't made eye contact with me since Tanya arrived. My head is spinning. They will be leaving in a few minutes, walking off together hand in hand. And the one thing I do know is that I do not want to watch it.

"Excuse me," I say weakly as I get up. Everyone shuffles along to let me out. I make my way to the ladies, shutting the door of the cubicle before letting my head fall back against it. I feel stupid for nor realising he would have a girlfriend. Good-looking, nice guys, generally do. And there I was thinking he was coming on to me. How wrong can you be? The tears prick my eyes. I hear my mother telling me I am being ridiculous. I have only known him three weeks, for god's sake!But she would say that. She had known my father for five years before they got married. Five years o f courting:fond goodnights, handholding, waves across the street. All pleaseant and polite. She said there was no rush. What she means is no passion. Not then or any point since .I suspect my creation was considered a necesary chore. I am not surprised I am only child. Or that they have slept in seperate beds ever since I can remember.

I hear the main door open. Someone enters the cubicle next to me, pees and flushes. I hurriedly flush, needing to make my extended absence sound plausible. I come out,Angela is washing her hands.

"Are you OK?"She says.

I catch my reflection in one of the mirrors and realise I _do not _look okay.

"Yeah," I say," I always feel crap the first day I'm on"

Angela nods. She doens't seem convinced. I curse myself silently for not being able to lie properly.

"I don't suppose you knew Edward had a girlfriend, did you? she says, giving the soap dispenser a good squirt.

"Er, no" I say" not that it matters. "

"He hardly ever talks about her. Plays his cards close to his chest, I guess."

"Have they been going out long?" I try to sound casual,as if I was just passing time of the day.

" About 18 months, on and off kind of thing. Of what I could gather she practically lives at his place. Every now and then, they have a big fall-out and she scuttles back to her parents' house. Always comes back to him, though. Sucker for that charm she is. Most women are. "

I nod and rinse my hands, deciding not to look up in case Angela is looking at me. I sense she is doing this for my benefit. The big sister routine.

"What does she do?" I ask.

" Lawyer. Works for the Crown Prosecution Service based at Warwick. You 'll probably see her if you ever go to a big case at court. Not that she'll bother to say hello. Bit of a cold fish, she is. I don't know what Edward sees in her, myself, apart from the obvious. But that's not enough to base a relationship in. Not really. " She shakes her hands and whipes them on her trousers."Anyway, none of our business, I suppose. Best let them get on with it."

She disappears out the door before I can say anything.I look at my hands under the dryer and realise they are still shaking.

As I leave the ladies I glance out of the widow and catch a glimpse of Edward and Tanya crossing the street. They are not holding hands. I watch as he opens the door of the restaurant for her and follows her inside. Out of sight, out of reach but not out of mind. I make my way back to the table and rejoin the others. I stay for another hour or so as not to make it look so obvious, before making my excuses and going back to my flat.

To mourn the loss of what could have been.

**Love it? Hate it? Are you planning on killing me after what happened in this chapter? Whatever you think please review! Let me know what you think, I just want to know even if you want to rip Tanya's head off or want to get Bella and Eddie-pooh here together soon!! :D Oh, and sorry if you found the first bit of the chapter confusing, I didn't know how to write it! :)And sorry if there are grammar/spelling mistakes. English is my second language and in Spain you don't really talk much english,cuz people don't understand you unless they're turists :s Just so that you know. **

**In the meanwhile REVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEW, please?**

**PS--I HEART HUMPHREY THE CAMEL!**

**-_Angel on Air_**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N whompi, whompa doo...(don't question my sanity because of this. I'm just bored.)**

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed and put this story into their favourites and/or gave it story alerts, you are freaking great!! Thankfully none of you know where I live, so you can't come to my house and kill me in my sleep because of what happened last chapter. Yay! So, Tanya a.k.a THAT BITCH has made her, shall I say, _grand _entrance to the story to kill any hopes Bella had about Edward. Even _I _hate her and it was me who decided she must be there, but as they say, patience is , my fellow friends, and you shall always be rewarded. Most of the time anyway. So enough of my rambling, LET'S GET READING! :D**

Chapter 5: Everytime we touch

BPOV

Sunday 16th March, 2001

I sit in the launderette watching the washing machine do an impression of the inside of my head, letting the noise of the machines lull into a trance-like state. There are half a dozen other people in here. I recognise all of them. It's not surprising really. I ought to have some kind of loyalty card. My clothes have never been so clean.

I am marking time. It is what I do at the weekends. Count the days, hours, minutes until I get to be with Edward again. I prefer it when it's my turn to do the weekend shift at the office. It is easier to keep my mind occupied at work. Always places to go, people to see,stories to write. On weekends off it is more difficult to keep my mind busy. To stop myself thinking about what he is doing because I know it will involve her. I try everything to block it out: shopping, going to the launderette, washing my car, even seeing my parents once a fortnight, I am that desperate. Anything to try to erase the picture I have in my head of the two of them together. It doesn't work of course.I can still see their image reflected now, in the door of the washing machine.

I tell myself to stop it. This silliness, as my mother would call it. What I do need to do is put a full stop at the end of the sentence.I have almost managed it a coupe of times. Reminded myself that he has a girlfriend. End of story. But always, Edward manages to say or do something to start it all up again. This idea that there is something more there than friendship. That he is still interested in me. Despite being with her.

I realise the machine, unlike my head, has stopped spinning. I open the door and empty my washing into the laundry bag before lugging it across the street to where my bright orange Beetle is parked. I dump the bag on the back seat and turn the key in the ignition. Nothing. I try again, still . I groan and bang my head on the steering wheel. I hadn't been able to afford breakdown cover.I get out and open the bonnet and stand there scratching my head. It could be the again it could be a whole range of other things. The truth is I have no idea is Sunday morning, all the garages will be closed. I haven't got enough money on me for a bus. It may be a long walk home.

I hear a car approaching and slowing down, then a very familiar voice.

"Hi, Bella."

Oh God. I realise I have lost it already. I can ever hear _his voice _now, as well as seeing him everywhere. I choose to ignore it but the voice calls again.

"Can I give you a hand?"

I spin around. Edward is leaning out of the window of his inside me fires, setting my hear racing, the blood pumping round my body _oh so loudly _I think even Edward can hear it flowing through my veins. Within seconds I am in serious danger of overheating. I only wish my car were as responsive. I realise my mouth is gaping open and I have yet to say anything.

"Edward, hi" I manage eventually.

"I was on my way home from the gym. I don't usually stop for stranded female motorists, not since I watched _Thelma & Louise. _But as it was you I thought I'd make an exception."

"Thank you, I'm very glad you did."

"Don't get too excited, I haven't done anything yet. And you probably know more about cars than I do."

He parks next to me, gets out and strolls over. He is the only person I know who can manage to look sexy in tracksuit pants and polo shirt. He smells of soap and shampoo. I am suddenly concious of my grubby clothes and lack of make-up. I wipe my brow and pull my hair out of my eyes.

"Is this your pride and joy then?"he says, tapping the bonnet.

"No, not really. I haven't had it that long.

"I bet it's got a name. Women always give their cars a name."

I start to laugh.

"Come on, out with it." he smirks playfully as he says it. His eyes are bright with some emotion I don't know how to describe.

"Tango," I say, blushing lightly.," Because of the colour. Not very original but it seemed better than satsuma at the time."

"Not bad," he says, still smirking,"Although I think I'd have called it Graham Taylor, you know, the former England manager, that said,'Do I not like orange?' "

I smile. I love the way he does that. Always brings a smile to my lips.

"So, what's the problem?" he says, moving around the engine.

"Won't start. Completely dead."

"I've got some jumpleads in the boot." he says"At least it might get you home."

"That would be great," I say. He brings the leads over and I fix them on to my car. Glad I do at least know how to do that.

"If it starts, keep it running," says Edward," I'll follow you home, just to make sure."

"You don't have to do this you know," I say, biting my bottom lip.

His green eyes turn sad for a moment, and then shine with honesty as he says" I _want _to do it."

I blush yet again and go to my car. The car starts first time. I do as Edward said. it is only as I pull up outside my flat I realise I have no idea what to say, or do now we are here. If he were just a friend, the obvious thing would have been to invite him up for a coffee. But he is clearly much more than a friend, otherwise I wouldn't be hesitating. . Or feeling guilty at the prospect of asking someone else's boyfriend up to my flat. Edward parks behind me, gets out and walks over. I am frozen in my car seat, unable to do anything apart from wind the window down and smile pathetically.

"Thanks very much!" my vocal chords seem to have shrunk to the size of frozen peas, because my voice sounds utterly little."What do I owe you?"

"A coffee would be nice. Unless you're planning to sit there all day."

I look at him,eyes staring in the glare of headlights. Unable to see an escape route to save me from the uncoming vehicle. Edward is looking at me, his eyes concerned and slightly confused. Still waiting for my reply.

"Yes, sorry, of course. Come on up"

I get out of the car, hauling my laundry bag with me, trying not to let him see how flustered I am.

"Here, let me take that," he says. He staggers exageratedly under the weight.

"Do you take in the washing for the whole street?" Edward asks,"some kind of good neighbour initiative?"

I smile as I lead him to the front door, then up two flight of stairs to my flat. All the time, these weird voices inside my head keep hollering, 'Don't do it!'. It's just a coffee!I tell them to shut up and open the door as he follows me through to the main room. It is weird having a bedsit, because essentially you are showing any visitors straight into your bedroom. I glance over at the bed, relieved to find I made it after I got up this morning and that I haven't left any dirty undewear lying around.

I turn back to Edward. I wonder if he feels as awkward as I do. If he does then he is not showing it.

"So, this is were you hang out," he says lightly.

"Yeah, a bit on the poky side but I haven't got much stuff and it will have to do until I can get some cash together."

Edward nods. I realise he is still holding the laundry bag.

"Here, lemme take that." I say. I dump the bag in the bathroom. When I get back Edward is looking at the photos on the wall.

"These from your travels?" he asks.

"Yeah. The Eiffel Tower is pretty amazing to look at."

"Who did you go with?" he says.

"No one. I went on my own."

He raises one eyebrow questioningly. I sense he is fishing.

"My ex couldn't get the time off work. Or maybe he just didn't want to come with me."

"I wouldn't blame him," he says," I wouldn't fancy it."

"Thank you," I say smiling at him,"And what makes me the world's worst travelling companion?"

"Well, you talk too much for a start. You'd probably collect animal dung along the way. And judging by the state of you this morning, you let yourself go a bit outside work."

I start laughing and dig him playfully in the ribs with my elbow.

"You're all charm, you are" I say. He is looking at me, eyes twinkling, daring me to come back at him. I want him so much right now, it scares me.

"I'll put the kettle on," I say,"one spoon of arsenic or two?"

"Oh, go on, make it two, you spoil me."

I go through to the kitchen, still laughing and shaking my head. When the two of us are together it's as if Tanya doesn't exist. And if she didn't exist, we would be together, I'm sure of that. I pour the coffees, take them back and hand Edward his. He hasn't even taken a sip when the doorbell rings. The interruption brings me back to reality. The one is which Tanya exists and I am going out for lunch with my parents trying to forget that fact.

"Sorry," I say," I completely forgot. My parents are coming it sounds like they're early."

Edward looks dissapointed. Though not half as disappointed as I am. I consider not answering the door, pretending I am out. But my car is outside. And my mother is the sort who, despite my age, would ring the police if she thought anything was amiss.

"Do you want me to go?" Edward asks.

"No, finish your coffee. But I warn you, my mother will probably jump to the wrong conclusion" I say.

"And what would that be?" he says, the smile returning back to his face.

The doorbell rings again.

"I'd better let them in." I say.

My mother, who is dressed immaculately in a peacock blue linen two-piece, looks disapprovingly at my jeans and shirt, step inside and greets me with a peck on the cheek. My father, who dresses like a banker even at weekends, stoops to kiss me, though I think he would probably be more comfortable if we shook hands.

I try to tell them about Edward, but my mother is on full-rant mode, moaning about the rude young man at the petrol station and they are up the stairs and into my flat the before I manage to get a word in edgeways. My mother stops dead on her tracks when she sees Edward, coffee mug in hand.

"Oh, Isabella? You didn't say you had company" she says, her tone clearly suggesting that we have spent the night together. I want to remind her that I am twenty-three now, no longer living under their roof and do not owe them any kind of , I am also aware of Edward's presence, and I do not want to make a scene. Especially when the truth is entirely innocent.

"Mum, this is Edward" I say,"My news editor at work. He stopped to help this morning when my car wouldn't start. Edward, these are my parents, Renee and Charlie."**(her parents are OOC)**

Edward puts his coffee down, turns on that smile and offers his hand to my mother.

"Delighted to meet you, " he says. My mother softens visibly. He continues his charm offensive by offering his hand to my father,"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Swan. You must be very proud of your daughter."

The look on my father's face suggests he has never considered such a possibility. We stand there I can think about is what might have happened if my parents hadn't arrived.

"Right. Well,I'd better be off," Edward says.

"Oh, but you haven't finished your coffee yet," Renee says,"Do stay a little besides, it's not often we get to meet one of Isabella's man friends."

I groan inwardly._Man friends? What the hell was that supposed to mean!? _My mother has obviously decided that Edward is son-in-law material.I glance at Edward, who is clearly trying not to laugh.

"Well, maybe another five minutes, as long as I'm not intruding."

"Oh,not in the least!"says my mother, sitting down in one of the armchairs." Isabella can make us coffee while you tell us a little about yourself.

I cringe as I disappear in the kitchen. When I re emerge a few minutes later, my father is sitting in the other armchair and Edward is perched at the end of my bed.I put the cups at the coffee table, looking around, realising I have no option but to join Edward. As I sit down, the bed sags a little in the middle,bringing us closer than I intended.

"Edward was just tellling he's a member of the local gym," says my mother," You ought to join him, would be ever so nice if you two could go together." Edward is still trying to hide his laughter in a fake coughing fit, clearly entertained by the whole situation. I roll my is rich coming from my mother, who leads an entirely seperate existence from my father, what with her tennis club and hospital league of friends and his bowls and bridge clubs.

"You know gyms aren't my thing." I say.

"Isabella does salsa dancing. Have you ever tried it, Edward? she asks, seemingly intent on finding something we can do together

"Can't say I have," Edward says, "I'll have to get..._Isabella _to give me a private lesson sometime,show me a few moves."

I throw him a look. He is doing this on to stir thing up with my mother.I decide I've been letting Mickey Mouse run the show.I need to pull the plug out before he gets me into anymore trouble with my mother.

"Anyway," I say," I'd better get changed if we are going out for lunch,"

"Where are you of to?"Edward asks

"Oh,just to the Carter's. It's rather quite nice for Rugby," says Renee, who would rather not leave Leamington Spa at all it she could help it.

"Right,well,I shall leave you to it,"Edward says, standing up," Lovely to meet you both,"He says to my parents."Enjoy your lunch."

"Are you sure you won't join us? We could easily fit an extra person at the table."

I throw her a look this time, sensing she is enjoying way too much this rare chance to meddle in my private life. She is not looking at me though. She is looking at him, pleading him to say yes. Edward catches my eye and stares for a moment,then replies with no hesitation.

"No thanks, I'd love to, but I really need to get time, perhaps."

I breathe a sigh of relief. As much as I want to be with him I am not sure I could have coped with my mother trying to fix me up over the three courses.

"We'll look forward to it," says my mother,"So many stories we could tell you from Isabella.I'm sure you'd like to hear them."

"I would indeed" Edward agrees, grinning at me goofily," he leans over and softly kisses me. He smells of honey and roses all put together. Before I can get my breath back let alone say anything, he is gone.

"Well,"says my mother,the second the door is closed"You certainly kept that one quiet."

"There's nothing to keep quiet about,he 's my news editor,my boss. "

"He seemed very familiar for a boss."

"We get on really well,that's all there is to it."

"As long as you know I approve of charming. And well spoken an improvement on your last one, that Mike chap.I never really liked him, or that awful northern accent.(**Hey, not meant to be rude for northeners,it's just her mum being horrible ;] )**

I am getting exasperated now."Mum, I'm not going out with him, If you must know, he has a girlfriend. He lives with her."  
My mother stares at me for a second, a look of horror in her face."But he seemed such a nice young man..."

"It just goes to show," I say as I take a dress from my wardrobe and disappear into the bathroom," how looks can be deceptive"

I lock the door, so that she cannot come in and find me crying,the image of Edward and Tanya together so rawlly visible in my mind I can almost touch his hair with my fingertips.

***********************

When I arrive at work the next morning Edward is on the phone.I sit down and turn my computer on,aware that he is looking at me. Aware that I have missed him in the twenty hours that we have been apart. I hear him talking,his voice rising and falling, drifting over to with my ears. I hear notes in it other people don't . It resonates deep within me. I take it home with me at nights. Because I can't take _him. _He goes home to Tanya. I don't know why because he doesn't love her. If he did he wouldn't look at me this way. It is as simple and as complicated as that. All I know is that if I can't have him I don't want anyone. If it is not to be, I will lead a tortured, solitary life, like some modern-day Rapunzel,pining away in an isolated tower,with nothing more to do than brush my long tresses as I dream of my lost love.

Edward puts his phone down and walks over to me.

"Morning Isabella," he jokes, smiling," have a nice lunch?"

"Why, thank you for asking Eddie-poo"I joke back,knowing how much he hates to be called Eddie,"Despite your best efforts to stir things up"

"I don't know what you mean," Edward says, smiling innocently at me,"Anyway, it was good. Being your man friend."

"You'll be pleased to know my mother approves of you."

"Good stuff.I have a knack with the over forty-fives."_and the minus forty-fives as well_ I think before I can stop it." I hope you let her down gently."

"Not really. She thinks you're a cad and a bounder now I've told her the truth."

"What's this?" asks Angela breezing past," Someone's rumbled Edward?"

"Yes, my mother unfortunately," I say.

"And where did you meet Bella's mother?"Angela asks Edward.

"At her flat.I was just having a quick coffee on my way home from the gym."

Angela raised her eyebrows

"There's a perfectly good café at the sports centre," she says, before walking off.

Edward looks down at his feet and returns to hid desk. I shuffle some papers,feeling as if we've been caught snogging behind the bikesheds. I realise it sounded worst than it actually was. I want to tell Angela the whole story, explain the bit about Edward jump-starting my car, make it clear that it was an accidental meeting,not premeditated.I decide to leave it though, worried that I might protest my innocence too much.

There is an uneasy silence at the office.A few minutes later Edward sends me down to Rugby Magistrate's Court.I'm not sure if he is doing it to get rid of me or if he's doing me a favour. It is my first murder case.A pensioner founs battered to death in her flat after disturbing a burglar. It is only down for plea and directions today; it will be referred to crown court for the trial. But it is a big deal for Rugby and for me. When I arrive at court the big guns of the local TV and radio stations are there. Even a couple of news agencies covering it up for the nationals. This is the real thing.I am the genuine article, the reporter from the local rag, the one with all the contacts, the inside information. My hands are clammy; I am worried someone will ask me a question I don't know the answer to. I hurry through the foyer into court one and take my seat on the press bench.I am rummaging through my bag for my notebook and pen when I hear her voice. I look up to see Tanya striding across the polished wooden floor,sophistication oozing from her pores. Her long, strawberry-blonde hair is cut into a 'Rachel'. every strand of hair falling perfectly into place..Her make-up is subtle but expertly applied,no trace of mascara clumps in her feathery eyelashes. I catch myself staring at her hands as she hugs a huge folder to her chest. The nails of her long,elegant fingers are beautifully manicured, the deep plum colour matching the silk blouse beneath the well-cut black trouser suit which shows off her wasp-waist.

Edward has done this on purpose. He must have know that she was holding this case for the he sent me here to remind what I'm against to. To stop me getting carried away with any silly ideas about the two of us. To force me to confront is with her. And I can't even begin to compete. Tanya looks across at me and I do my best to smile. She nods in silent aknowledgement.

The press bench is full. The clerk opens the door and asks the court to rise while the magistrates come. The clerk nods and and sit down again once they are seated. The defendant is brought in handcuffed to a police officer. He is young and scrawny with tiny startled eyes.

Tanya begins her glides purposefully up and down the courtroom, turning beautifully posied on the balls of her feet when she gets to the far clearly in clipped,assured tones.I am in awe at her.I am not the only one. The defendant stutters a not guilty plea. He is remanded in custody again, to be tried at Warwick Crown Court, where any jury will no doubt hang on Tanya's every word and find him guilty as hell. The defendant is marched other journalists file out of the courtroom. I remain seated to hear the rest of the morning cases. Tanya is clearly still holding court. She is the queen. I, a lowly pretender to the throne. Or perhaps the court jester, making a fool of myself in public because I allowed myself to become smitten. I need to put a stop to this. For everyone's sake. Starting from now.

**A/N So what d'ya think? Love it? Hate it? Like it? not? Please please please review, I just love to know what you equal love,so if you like the story REVIEW! Yay! I hope I got the point clear. :D I hope to update as soon as possible!Next chapter is already being written so you won'thave to wait that log to have it. ;) Ah, btw, someone pm asking about the chapter's titles. They do not come out of my imagination, most of them are so that you know.**

**REVIEW!**

**ps-- does anyone know what hits are? I was looking at them the other day and I didn't have a clue what they were. **

**pps--I love Humphrey the camel, he is so my hero. :D**

**REVIEW!!**

**_-Angel on Air_**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hey guys! Thanks to all the people who reviewed and/or subscribed this story into their favourites list or gave it story alerts, author alerts, you make my day!! I reached over ten reviews!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!So happy: D hheheehhehe..****  
AAhh, I forgot to tell you the characters' age,, Edward is 29 and Bella is 23. So now you know ;) I don't really have something to tell you, I just wanted to thank everyone who is reading this story; it's because of you that I keep writing that I continue to love doing this. And that I hate Tanya. And I love Humphrey the camel. He is cool. :D**

**LET'S GET READING!**

Chapter 6: Love's Divine

BPOV  
Thursday 17th April, 2001

"Oh God, I've been summoned," Edward groans, walking past my desk on his way into the editor's office. I keep my eyes firmly fixed on the computer screen. I have been watching Karen, trying to catch on these blinker things she does. All I need now is the nose clip and the ear plugs. Perhaps then I shall be oblivious of his existence.  
It is not working, this pretence. I may feign indifference when he walks into the office. Or uninterest when he starts to talk. But I am fooling no-one. Least of all myself. The truth is, the harder I try to cool it, the deeper I fall. Sometimes I do manage to avoid being alone with him, or even talking to him for a day. But it doesn't change the way I feel. If anything it makes it worse. The ache I have inside. I remain fired by his passion, amused by his humour and intrigued by his conversation. If there were anything I didn't like, some objectionable aspect of his personality, it would give me a chance. Allow me to focus on the bad points. But I have yet to discover something to sway me from the view that I would happily spend the rest of my life with him. If only he wasn't with someone else! And that fact alone is not enough to put me off. It is like telling a child not to touch something shiny. It only makes them want to touch it more.

"Fucking Tory puppet," Edward says, slamming the door as he returns to the office and throwing his notebook down on the desk.

"What's up?" Angela asks who is busy watering her pot plants, being the only person that could get away with it on a press day.

"Simple Simon's pulled the splash"

"That's bang out of order," Angela exclaims.

I look up from my screen, hoping I had heard wrong. Edward turns to face me.

"I'm so sorry Bella," he says," You worked so hard on this. And it's a bloody good story too."

It is my big Tory sleaze exclusive. One of Colin Leake's tip-offs. Colin is the leader of the Labour group on Rugby Borough Council.I remember meeting him on my first day. Edward said he's a top contact; Labour candidate for the general election. Well worth keeping sweet.

The director of the company which has just won council approval for a controversial housing development turns out to be the son-in-law of George Pike, our Tory MP. It's the biggest story I have ever written. Edward went through the copy with me. Said it was water-tight. Joked about it getting poached by _The Guardian. _And now it is being pulled out. I do not understand.

_"_What the matter with it?" I say.

"Nothing," Says Edward, walking over to me. "He says it's too sensitive with the campaign going on now. Reckons that maybe we could get accused of being biased."  
I am stunned into silence.

"That's bollocks," Angela says.

"My words, exactly," he says," The truth is he's had a call from Pike's election agent. Suggesting he holds it over until after the election."

"He can't do that," I say.

"I'm afraid he can" Edward says, "They're probably part of the same funny handshake brigade. That's why Simon's decided to stick his oar in for once."

My brow is creased and my mouth is gaping incredulously. I thought journalism was supposed to be about exposing wrongdoing-not covering it up. About having the power to change things, not seeing your own editor trample over the truth.

"Can't we do something?" I squeak.

"I've tried. Threatened Simon with union action. He told me to go ahead. Said his decision was final. I'll raise it at the branch meeting tonight, though. See if we can kick up a fuss about it. Shame him into changing his mind."

I nod. Edward is the branch chair, spends his free time fighting other people's battles. If anyone can kick up a fuss, he can. But I do not hold much hope. It seems Simon is beyond shame. The disappointment must show on my face.

"Why don't you take an early lunch?" Edward says," Go let off some steam. Call him every name under the sun. Buy a voodoo doll and stick pins in it. Anything to make you feel better."

I nod and bend to pick up my bag.

"Don't let him get to you," Edward says," You're worth a million of him," He says it quietly I don't think anyone else hears.

***********************

By the time I get back to the office, things seem to have simmered down a little, mainly because Simon's gone out for lunch. Everyone is slagging him off, saying what an arsehole he is. I am not sure if they are truly as appalled as I am about all of this or if they are doing this for my smiles supportively, as if I had been bereaved. Which in a small way I think I have.

Our deadline has gone now. Angela worked up some road-rage story she got from the cops in a stand in splash. The usual Thursday afternoon lull descends on us. I busy myself bashing out some leftover bits and bobs, but for once my heart isn't really into it. For the first time since I have started this job I feel as if I am only going through the motions. The bright, shiny bubble I had been living up until this morning has burst. Edward and Angela both make a few wisecracks about Simon. But I can't even begin to raise a smile.  
It is a good hour or so before my phone rings. I am aware as I answer it that I still sound pissed off. The male caller asks for me by voice is deep and clipped but rather faint; I think he's on a mobile.

"Yes, speaking." I say.

"Hello, it's Malcolm Freeman, George Pike's election agent. I don't think we've had the pleasure of speaking before. I feel my jaw tighten, my pulse quicken. I struggle to resist the temptation to tell him where to go. A rather curt 'hello' is all I manage.

"Simon told me that you won't be running that little story of yours about the housing development and I just wanted to pass on his appreciation of your co-operation in this matter,"

My heart is beating so hard it is rattling in my ribcage. A surge of indignation rises through me.

"The decision was taken by my editor. I didn't have any say in the matter."

"Of course, you have to say that as a journalist. However, Mr. Pike would like to show you his appreciation in some small way. I have an envelope for you. I wondered if we could arrange to meet somewhere quiet. These things are better done discreetly."

I cannot believe what I am hearing. I start to scribble furiously in my notebook, realising the implication of what he is saying. It is Neil Hamilton and Martin Bell all over again. All we need now is for Colin to don a white suit and declare a war on sleaze and we will be able to knock Tatton off the front pages. Sod the _Rugby Chronicle_; I'm going to the nationals with this.

"Yes, yes of course. And asked you to do this personally, did he?"

"That's right. As a token of his appreciation."

"And I take this, er, token, is not something he could send through post?"

"Oh, goodness, no. That wouldn't be at all wise."

I smile as I scribble. I have got him here. I am going to bring that bastard down. We arrange to meet at the Rupert Brooke statue in five minutes' time. He says he doesn't want the content of the envelope hanging around in the office. And advises me to go straight to the bank afterwards. As I put the phone down I realise my hands are shaking. I am high on adrenalin. Finally I am Woodward or Bernstein. It is time to run about like a crazy person. To shout hold the front page. I turn to tell Edward but he is not at his desk. Dave says he has nipped out for a pint of milk. I haven't got time to hang around for him. I decide not to tell the others. I will wait until I have the evidence in my hand .And on film. I run up to photographic and grab Bill by the arm. I tell him it is a top secret mission. That all he need to do is hide in the bushes and take a picture of the man with the brown envelope. He seems suitably intrigued. We hurry off together. The statue is in a little green triangle sandwiched between a church, a row of town houses and a street full of solicitors and estate agents. Bill disappears into the shrubbery at the far end. As I approach the statue I glance around me. An elderly woman sitting on a bench eating a sandwich. A man walking one of those little yappy dogs. Nothing out of the ordinary. Any second now Freeman will be here. I stroll up and down, trying hard to inconspicuous. Several minutes pass. I worry he has gotten cold feet. That I have lost my exclusive. I wander near the statue. My eyes fix on a small brown object tucked behind Rupert Brooke's left foot. I go nearer still. It is definitely an envelope. Maybe he panicked and left it there. I edge ever nearer, glancing over my shoulder, making sure no one, apart from Bill in the bushes, is watching. I bend down and pick it up. The envelope is sealed. It has my name on it. The adrenalin kicks in again. I rip it open, looking furtively around me as I do so. Inside there is a packet of humbugs and a note. 'Just wanted to see you smile again." Written unmistakably in Edward's elegant handwriting.

For a split second I am angry, mad at myself for having taken it so badly. But a moment later I am bent double with laughter, wiping the tears from my eyes. I hear a rustle from the bushes. Bill emerges followed closely by Edward, who has a broad grin on his face.

"You complete bastard." I am laughing as I say it. Edward walks up to me and gives my shoulder a playful shove.

"Had you there," he says.

"Yep, it was the posh voice that threw me," I say, as I pretend to box him around the ears," I had it all worked out. I was going to flog it to the_ Guardian_.

"Sorry," Edward says," Couldn't resist it."

"You were in this weren't you?" I say, turning to Bill.

"Edward did warn me to expect a visit,"

"Dirty, rotten, scoundrels, the pair of you"

"Thanks Edward. Made my day that has," Bill says before heading back to the office.

I am left standing there with Edward. He smiles and looks down at his feet. He feels it too. I know he does. I wonder if he and Tanya laugh together like this. Somehow I don't think so.

"Here have a humbug." I say, offering the packet to him. "Anything to keep you quiet,"

We walk back to the office, Edward sucking his humbug. Me still smiling and shaking my head. Wishing things were different.

I pull into the tiny car park off Spon Street in Coventry. It isn't even seven yet. I am running ridiculously early. It is less than 2 hours since I last saw Edward but already I am desperate to see him again. I know it is wrong. I am supposed to be weaning myself off him. Not increasing my fix. But although I tell myself that countless times, I can't seem to break it.

At least I have a good excuse with Edward planning to raise my pulled story at the meeting. Not that I need an excuse to spend more time with him. But it helps to ease my conscience.

I walk into the Windmill pub. I have never been here before. It is all low ceilings, beams and crooked doorways. There are a couple of separate rooms, not more than alcoves really. We are going to be in the one at the front. I poke my head round the corner: it is empty. I go to the bar to get a vodka and orange. I am served quickly. Too quickly, really. I am left standing there; drink in one hand, the fingers of my other hand tapping on the bar. My thoughts are interrupted a few minutes later when a soft voice whispers in my ear.

"I have a brown envelope for you."

I am smiling before I even raise my head to look at him. "I only accept humbugs thank you,"

Edward smiles back. The ache inside me disappears. I am surprised he is early. It is a standing joke that he is always late for meetings, even ones he is chairing. I allow myself to wonder if he came earlier to see me then think better of it. Probably just a fluke.

"Can I get you another drink?"

"No. I'm fine thanks,"

He gets himself a bottle of Becks. I watch his fingers curl around the long neck as he takes it from the barman.

"The others not here yet?"

"No, I couldn't see them."

"May as well go through anyway" he says, ducking his head as he reaches the doorway. I follow him closely into the room, conscious as ever that it is only the two of us. And that although I shouldn't, I like it this way. I sit on a stool opposite him. My knee brushes accidentally his under the table. I am not sure whether to apologise or whether that would draw too much attention t it. I opt to say nothing and fiddle with my beer-mat instead.

"Are you okay? says Edward, "It was a real blow about your story, wasn't it?"

I nod. I thought I'd managed to cover my disappointment pretty well. Obviously not.

"I didn't think things like that happened in local newspapers. Thought it was only the Murdochs of this world who threw their weight around. "

Edward shakes his head, "You know the saying, power corrupts and all that. And Simon is by no means the worst. Other newspapers around here have pulled things because one of their advertisers has complained. So basically their journalists can't write anything bad about any company which takes out a display ad."

"That's outrageous. We're supposed to have a free press in this country,"

Edward smiles.  
"What?" I say.  
"You, being so idealistic. You'll be saying we live in a democracy next."

"Are you taking the piss?"

"Not at all," he says," It's refreshing, finding someone who's not as jaded and cynical as the rest of us. Reminds me of what I used to be like when I started out."

He lifts the bottle to his mouth and takes a long swig. I watch as his throat moves as he swallows. I am mesmerised even by the way he drinks. I could sit here all night, take in every detail, and I still wouldn't know enough about him.

"I just hate the fact that Simon can get away with doing that," I say," It's so wrong,"

"I know."He says, running his fingers through his hair," I feel really bad about it. Maybe I should have called everyone out on strike there and then."

"That wouldn't have been legal though, would it?"

"No, but why should that stop us?"

I raise my eyebrows, wondering what Tanya would have made out of that comment.

"It's only Thatcher's union bashing that's made it that way," he continues, "Made us so weak that some Tory MP comes along and offers to grease the editor's palm and he caves in, knowing he can get away with it."

"What, you reckon Simon will get something out of this?"

"Of course he will. Might not be as obvious as a brown envelope but something along the lines of a favour will be called in"

"Like it was with the council granting Pike's son in law planning permission?" I say.

"Exactly. That's how it works. A nod and a wink in the right place and the old boys' network is still ruling the fucking country. That's why we need to fight dirty sometimes, show them they can't just trample all over the workers. That we can still find ways to hit them were it hurts, in their pockets."  
Edward puts his bottle down on the table with a thud. There are flashes of lightening in his eyes, thunder in his voice. I am electrified by it all. I am in awe at the white heat burning away inside him, at his very core.

"Sorry," he says, looking across at me," Did I go off in a bit of a rant then?"

"It's OK, "I say," I enjoyed it. The students' union at Warwick uni was never this lively,"

"That'll be because they were a bunch of middle-class worthies from-" his voice cuts off abruptly.

"You were going to say Leamington Spa, then, weren't you?" I say, laughing.

Edward pulls a face," Err, yes, but I didn't want to offend you. Thought better of it."

"You wouldn't have," I say, still giggling, "My mother, yes, but not me. I just had the misfortune to be born there."

Edward smiles. I like it like this, just the two of us. It makes me think about how good it could he wasn't with someone else I mean. I am out of luck. A bald-headed guy I recognise from the last meeting comes in and starts talking to Edward. For a second I feel aggrieved that he is breaking our private party. But then a dose of reality floods in and I remind myself that there is nothing to break up.

The room fills quickly; bodies, voices and cigarette smoke. We are surrounded by them but I still feel Edward's closeness. He introduces me to people I don't know, and looks over at me every now and again, as if he were checking if I'm okay. Or maybe he's just looking. I don't know.  
Angela arrives at the last minute and sits down next to me. She says Dave isn't coming, his sinuses are playing up, and Karen will try to make it if the housing meeting committee she is covering finishes in time. I nod. I'm not really listening. I am watching Edward. He is rising to his feet. People look up and stop talking. He kicks off the meeting, rattling through a list of union business; picket lines he has visited letters he has written on our behalf. He asks for updates from around the table, suggests responses to various problems people are having , congratulating members from the evening newspaper on winning their fight for union recognition, rallying support for a big protest against regional cutbacks at the BBC. He eats lives and breathes this stuff that is obvious. The others are nearly as enthralled as I am. Nearly, but not quite.

"Moving onto any other business," he says," We've had a problem today at the _Chronicle. _The editor has pulled an exclusive story written by Bella Swan, our new member, following a phone call from George Pike's election agent. It is blatant censorship, designed purely to save the Tories' blushes during election campaign. And as Bella quite rightly says, he shouldn't be able to get away with it."

I feel the colour rising in my cheeks. He is fighting my corner, leading the battle cry in my behalf. I will follow wherever he leads. Looking round the room, I suspect everyone will too. This is the effect he has on people. After much condemnation, we agree to send a letter to the editor and the MD, complaining in the strongest possible terms, demanding that the story be run next week and stating that if not the branch will hold a public protest outside the _Chronicle _offices on Saturday morning. Edward wraps up the meeting. I feel enthused again, ready to take on the world. Most of the others start to get up and head to the bar, Angela leading the way. Edward sits down and looks across at me.

"That do you for now?" He asks.

I nod. "Yes, thank you. At least we're doing something, not taking it lying down."

"I can see the placards now," he says," Save Our Bella's Story,"

"It's not about me," I say." It's about the principle of a free press."

"Watch it," he says," You're starting to sound like me,"

I smile. It is no bad thing. Angela comes in with the drinks.

"What are you two plotting now?" she says.

"Oh, just a revolution or two," Edward says.

Angela shakes her head.

"Don't you go leading Bella astray," she says to Edward," She's a good girl."

"Don't you believe it;" he says," I've seen that look in her eyes,"

I laugh and look down at my feet.  
I am sure now. That he knows.

**A/N: Aaawww, she's in looovee!! YAY! okay, okay, enough of my randomness ;) Thanks again to every single one of you** **for reading this story, it's what it makes it worthwhile.****  
Again, like it? Hate it? It's crappy? I don't know so please review!!! REVIEWREVIEWREVIEW!! :D:D:D**

**Also, I'm very sorry to say I will not continue this story any more, I'm bored of it.**

** Sorry. That's not true but I****_am_********sorry to say that from next week onwards, I might not be able to update as regularly because I'm starting school next Wednesday, but I promise to update at least****_once_********a week. Sorry about that, but I can't just leave school for a story. Wish I could though xD Anyways, reviewing will make me write faster, so it would be best if you friggin' reviewed, OKAY!? *hint, hint***

**Hope you have a wonderful time doing whatever you're doing!!**

**AWSOMENESS!**

**_-Angel on Air_******


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N I worked all night so I could post this chapter really early, since next chapter is going to take a while before I post it. I know this chapter is shorter than the others, but I hope you won't want to kill me after you read the end of it. Please please please don't go searching for me? Also you might have noticed I've had to change the rating of this story from T to M. So you know that it is going to happen. No graphic scenes though, I'm only 13;) Okay, now...LET'S GET READING !!**

Chapter 7: Take the long way home 

BPOV

Thursday 1st May 2001

I am caught up in something beyond my control. It has been going on for months now, this feeling that we are meant to be. And that the only thing stopping us is circumstance. Or Tanya to be more precise. I have tries to fight it, of course. Told myself all the right things about him being out of bounds, unavailable, already taken. But my feeling won't go away. It is impossible when I work with him every day. And when he gives me so many signals that he feels the same way. Things he says, things he does. The way he looks at me. It is all so _intense_. Sometimes I think I can hear a buzzing when he comes near me. If I can, it is inside my head. No one else hears it. Except maybe him. It is starting again now. He must be coming near.

"You can make a move if you want, Bells," he says. _Bells. I like it._" Pop home for a few hours to recharge your batteries. Long night ahead,"

It is general election night. My first as a reporter. Crap timing for us because we have already gone to press this week but it's still a big thing for me. I am covering the Rugby and Kenilworth count with Edward. His suggestion. Says it will be a useful part of my training. The others don't seem to mind; they have all done it before. I am elated at the prospect of spending time with Edward out of the office but wary of his motives.

"Are you sure?" I say.

"Yeah, I'm off home myself in a bit. I'm sure these guys can hold the fort until half five.

He looks around the newsroom. Angela looks up.

"Yep, no problem," she says. Dave sighs, Karen carries on typing.

"Thanks," I say," I'll just finish this."

I go back to my half-finished chemists' rota. I take my time over it, checking and double checking. I am in no hurry to go home. I will wait until Edward leaves. As soon as he puts on his denim jacket I will log off. The jacket hangs on the coat stand behind my desk. It is the right shade of blue. A rip in the side, frayed cuffs. Sometimes when I can't see Edward, I look at the jacket instead. Every now and then I think I can smell him on it. Not aftershave, he doesn't use aftershave. The scent is of him, unmistakably him. And once or twice, when I have been really bad, and I think I might collapse from the sheer exhaustion of wanting something that I can't have so much, I have gone over to the coat stand and rummaged for some lost thing in my jacket pocket. There is nothing there, of course. I am simply rubbing against his jacket, burying my head in his shoulder, brushing against his sleeve. It is sad and pathetic, I know this. But that is what I have been reduced to.

The jacket moves. Edward is behind me, taking it off the peg. I press send. It will be there for him tomorrow morning, the chemists' rota. A missive from me to him, it means nothing and everything at the same time. I switch off my computer.

"Right, see you guys tomorrow," Edward says, looking around the office.

"Yeah, have fun," Angela says. "Let's hope Pike gets stuffed, that'll teach him.

My Tory sleaze story never did make it to the front page. We had our big union protest outside the office. Caused a bit of a stink. But Simon still refused to run it. Colin ended up going to the local radio station with the story instead. So at least Pike didn't get off scot-free. But it left a bad taste all around. I am still fuming. I have hardly spoken to Simon ever since. And I am desperate for Colin to win. Though turning over a thirteen thousand majority isn't going to be easy.

"See you at the town hall at ten, Bella," Edward says, "And keep your eyes peeled for brown envelopes,"

He winks at me and walks out. Angela looks over at me from over the top of her glasses. I wonder if she saw the wink. Not that it means anything. It was just a joke. I gather my things together and pick up my jacket. The scent of Edward had rubbed off on it. I put it on, wanting to have it next to my skin.

"See you then," I say to the others.

"Good luck," says Angela, "keep Edward in order."  
I nod ad walk downstairs. Edward is still at the office, wearing a look of terror, as he has been cornered down by Lauren again. I hear her giggle wrecklessly at something and Edward's strained laugh. Once she corners you it is impossible to get away.

"Are you ready to go, Edward?" I say.

"He looks up gratefully "Yep, let's go. Bye Lauren, got to dash,"

We leave Lauren as she shoots me a death-glare and hurry out of the door and round the corner.

"You looked like you needed rescuing," I say.

"Thank you," he says, "It's just beyond me, that woman could gossip for England."

He smiles and then turns to look at me. And then he stops smiling. And just looks.

"Are you off home now?" he says.

"Yeah,"

"Got anything to eat in?" I shake my head.

"Me neither. Fancy going for a bite to eat? Build us up for tonight."

My stomach clenches tight. I know I should not even contemplate saying yes. Should decline gracefully and go home to my empty flat. But it is hard when he is here and I want to be with him so much.

"Pizza Express, I was thinking," Edward says, unperturbed by my silence. "Unless you've got a better idea."

I tell myself it is no big deal. An innocent bite to eat after work. It gives me room to manoeuvre. And eases my conscience.

"Okay, I can't stay long though," I say, weakening by the second, "I've got to pop home and vote at some point. I didn't have time to this morning,"

"Pizza it is then. We'll take my car. I managed to get a space nearby,"

I follow him across the road to where his silver Volvo is parked.

"Allow me," he says, opening the passenger door before me.

Questions are swirling around my head. Why is he doing this? How come we're going by car when it is within walking distance? And what on Earth am I getting myself into? I get in the car all the same. I have no choice. My legs pay no attention whatsoever to my head. Edward shuts my door, jumps in and starts the engine. The Jam blares out of the stereo, 'Going Underground' at full volume. He says there is no other way to listen to it. And that he hates Style Council.

I say nothing during this journey. He provides backing vocals to Paul Weller. He is a crap singer. Edward, not Paul Weller. When we get there Edward leaps out and opens the passenger door for me. He makes me feel so…_special_. He always has done. As we walk into Pizza Express together I realise I am loving this. The idea that we are a couple. That people will think I am his girlfriend. Even though I'm not.

I order a Veneziana pizza. Twenty-five pence of it will be donated to preserve some old church in Venice. I think it's a church. I don't really care, to be honest. I just like pine nuts. Edward orders something with anchovies and sits gazing at me across the table.

"So," he says, "Who are you going to vote for?"

"Well, it's not George Pike that's for certain.

"Didn't think so," he says, "I spoke to Colin on the phone this morning. He sounded very upbeat."  
"Do you think he stands a chance?"

Edward shrugs.

"Hard to say. Depends if people are bothered about sleaze or not. And whether Blair's wooed enough of the blue rinse brigade,"

The waitress comes up with our drinks. She smiles at Edward. I wonder if she fancies him. The look on her face says she does. I f she is wondering what he is doing sitting here with me. Come to think of it , I'm not very sure why he is sitting here with me either.

"And has Blair wooed you?" I ask.

"I voted for Colin, not for Blair." He says, "To be honest it was an anti-Pike protest vote. If you'd done a Martin Bell and stood up against him as an independent I'd have voted for you."

"I'm not sure if that was a compliment or not," I say.

"It was," Edward says, "I can just imagine you giving Pike a verbal pasting on Dunchurch village green. The woman in the orange Beetle, that's what the newspapers would call you."

I laugh as I sip my white wine. Just the one small glass I'm having. I need to keep a clear head. It's going to be a long night. We eat our pizzas quickly. I use my knife and fork, he cuts his into pieces and eats with his hands, licking his fingers clean afterwards, looking at me as he does so. Not taking his eyes off me the whole time.

"Can I tempt you with a dessert?" he asks.

"No, thanks. I'm full."

"We've still got a few hours to kill. How about coming to my place for a coffee?"

My wine glass clinks noisily on the side of my plate as I put it down. I stare at Edward, unsure of what to say. Whether to treat it as a serious proposition, which I think it is, or laugh it off as a joke.

"And…why would I do that?" I say eventually.

"Because you want to. And I might be offended if you refuse."

His eyes are glinting. But it is simply a veneer. Underneath they are deeper, darker than I have ever seen them before. He is being serious.

"What about Colin?" I say, my voice a little shaky.

"You want him to come too?" I didn't have you down as to being into threesomes."

I try to keep my composure, to think of all those things about being right and proper and decent. But a smile breaks across my lips and before I know it I am laughing. Throwing my head back, letting my dark hair dangle further down my back. Edward leans over towards me. He is _so close_. I forget to breathe. The buzzing in my head starts again.

"I'll take that as a yes," he says.

He pays, says he will get it on expenses. Pizza with Councillor Leake. I tell him not to mention Colin. I feel bad enough already. Just being here with Edward is wrong. Going back to his house is indefensible. I hear my mother telling me I am old enough to know better. That if I play with fire I might get my fingers burnt. He is worth the risk, though. He is everything I have ever wanted.

We let Paul Weller fill the silence in the car. Edward doesn't sing along this time. He glances over at me a few times. I pretend not to notice and stare straight ahead. Hoping he can't hear my heart pumping twice the speed of sound. Or see the sweat gathering in palms.

His house is a few miles out of Rugby, a place called Dunchurch, complete with little thatched roofs and a village green with ducks. Not exactly a left-wing stronghold. But it has links with the gunpowder plot. Guy Fawkes used to live here, or stopped there for afternoon tea once, something like that. That's why Edward chose it. He says it's a great place to plot the overthrow of the government without arousing suspicion. I assume no explosive things will be involved. I might be wrong.

****************************

I haven't been to his house before. None of us at work have ever been invited. I presume because of Tanya. She certainly wouldn't want me there. I know that. But I try to push it to the end of my mind.

We pull up outside a small terraced cottage, wonky-looking with lots of weeds in the front garden. I can't imagine Tanya likes it this way but I don't suppose she can say anything about it. It is Edward's place after all. She moved in with him. Officially she still lives with her parents in an imposing five-bedroom townhouse near work. She is a lodger here, really. She has no right to ask the landlord to clear the garden. And she is certainly not going to get her own hands dirty.

Edward lets me in. Tanya isn't here. I know this already; he wouldn't have asked me back otherwise. But her things are everywhere and I think I can smell her. Edward leads me through to the kitchen and puts the kettle on; as if that is all we've come back for, a coffee. It is only a matter of time before he makes a move now. The voices in my head are getting louder. Telling me it is wrong. I shouldn't be here. I need a moment to think. To calm myself. I ask Edward where the bathroom is and follow his directions, top of the stairs, second door on the right. I switch the light on. Whoever tried to tile this bathroom must have been having a laugh. There isn't a straight line in the room. Consequently there are no full tiles around the edges. Only bits of ones of various sizes, jostling for space. The grouting in between has gone mouldy grey. Not recent enough to be Edward's work. Tanya's things are everywhere. A second toothbrush, red, new-looking. Cotton wool balls, L'Oreal cleanser, Max Factor face powder. I open the bathroom cabinet; a box of Tampax falls out. She is here all right. In everything but body. I go to the loo and wash my hands afterwards, quickly checking my teeth in the mirror for capers. I leave the bathroom. A crack of light is visible through the other door. I stop for a second and push it with an outstretched finger, as if I'm in some horror movie and fear what could be lurking behind it. The door opens enough to reveal the bottom end of the bed. The duvet is lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. Someone got up in a hurry this morning. Or maybe they made themselves late by whatever it was they were doing. A silk wrap is draped over a chair. Scarlet, the same as her lipstick. I wonder if he bought it for her. If he kisses her neck as he takes it off. I shouldn't be here. It is wrong. I do not do this sort of thing.

I hear Edward moving about in the kitchen and hurry downstairs. Two mugs of steaming coffee are on the kitchen counter. He looks up at me.

Eyes piercing and expectant. He isn't smiling anymore. His breathing has quickened. That strand of hair is falling into his eyes again. I want to brush it back. But I am unable to move. Frozen on the spot. He walks towards me. I know what is going to happen. I reach for the coffee mug but before I get there he pushes me back against the fridge.

**Author's Ramblings: Don't kill me. Don't kill me. Please. I know you want to, but still...**

**I don't know when next chapter is going to be posted. It might take a bit of time. Not _that _much. but still, four or five days, so I can get out of my depressed state right now. Anyway. I'll update As Soon As Possible. I promise. Seriously.**

**_-Angel on Air_**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N hey..!! Thanks to all the people who reviewed this story nd added this to their favourite list or anything like that, you fucking rock guys!! :DD Anyway, I know i said I was going to get you a lemon, but the truth is I wrote one but it was so intensely bad that i freaked out and deleted it, along with half of the chapter, so I had to write everything again. This chapter isn't betayed or anything like that cuz i just wanted to post it to you as soon as pos, so sorry if there are speeling/grammar mistakes:S so...let's get readin'!!!**

Chapter 8: The morning after

BPOV

Thursday 1st May, 2001

The cold sears through my cotton top and prickles at the back o my legs. He presses against me, the warmth of his body forcing back the cold, melting the last shred of resistance. His hands are on my head, delving into my hair, grasping and pulling urgently. His face is against mine now. I can hear the buzzing, louder than ever as he kisses me, long and hard and salty. It doesn't feel so wrong now it ahs started. The communication lines between my brain and my body have been cut. The voices in my head fall silent. There is nothing left there to stop me doing what I want to do. What suddenly feels so right.

I tug at his shirt, pulling it out of his trousers, feeling him flinch as my cold hands slip on to his bare back. Finally touching skin. He undoes the top few buttons and pulls it over his head. Peeling back the layers between us.

"Your turn," he breathes against my ear. I take off my top. He unfastens my bra and lets it drop to the floor. He bends down, kissing my breasts, using his tongue, circling, flicking. We are both breathing hard now. I run my finger down his spine; the small of his back is damp with sweat. He turns me around and presses me up against the cold metal of the fridge. I gasp as he laughs before turning me back and licking each erect nipple in turn.

"The next move is up to you," He whispers, "We can stay down here if you like, or go upstairs,"

I hesitate for a second.

"Upstairs."

He takes my hand and leads me up to the bedroom. I hover in the doorway. The hammering inside my head starts again. Connections are restored.

"Are you sure about this?" I say.

"It's good to do something crazy once in a while," he says.

"Is it?"

"Yeah. That's what you told me once, when I sent you camel racing."

"That was a bit different" I say. "What about -" he puts his finger to my lips.

"Don't" he says, "Don't spoil it,"

He takes his trousers, socks and boxer shorts off and turns to face me. He is one of those rare men who look even better without clothes. The curtains are open and the light is on. He doesn't seem to care.

"Come here," he says, beckoning me with his finger.

I unzip my skirt and let it drop to the fall. I step out of it and walk towards him in my knickers and heels.

"I want you." He breathes against me.

His eyes are telling me that he means it. I am flattered. I want to ask if that is all this is; a quick fuck. Because I don't want that. I want so much more than that. I don't ask though. In case I don't like the answer. I allow him to slip off my knickers. He pulls me up close to him in front of the full length mirror. I see the reflection of his eyes, hungry and eager, feel his breath, warm and rapid, his fingers, deft and fast . I turn round to face him and kiss him roughly, stooping to work my way down his body. He groans loudly as I kiss his inner thigh. Edward pulls me down on the bed. I am lost to him. I pretend he is making love to me in an anonymous back street hotel in Paris. Halfway through I loose it and tell him I love him. He smiles and mumbles something back. Either 'I know' or 'No you don't' or maybe even 'love you too'. I hesitate and the moment is gone. It is too late now to ask him to repeat it. And anyway, you don't ask people to repeat things like that. You believe you heard what you wanted to hear.

It is good. The best sex I have ever had. It is a long time before it is over. When it is we collapse down on to the bed, both of us wet with sweat. My head rests on Edward's shoulder, my tangled curls soft against his stubble. I look up at him, awash with love.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," he whispers. His hand is stroking my arm. I'm not sure if he knows he is doing it.

"Me too," I say.

"So why did you go all cool on me?" he asks, "I thought I'd done something wrong."

I am surprised. I hadn't realised it was that obvious.

"I was trying to fight it," I reply, "Trying to be good. Anyway, I didn't know if it was all a game to you. A bit of harmless flirting,"

He hesitates before replying.

"I don't make a habit of this," he says, "I was trying to resist as well,"

The tone in his voice is serious. I am surprised and pleased.

"So what happened," I say, "Changed your mind?"

He doesn't hesitate this time.

"You turned out to be irresistible."

He is smiling as I say it. For a moment I am dizzy with euphoria. Until the bubble bursts and the guilt rushes I, I don't wan to spoil things but I have to ask. It is eating away at me.

"What about…Tanya?" I ask.

There is a long pause. His hand stops stroking my arm. I feel his body recoiling, pulling away from me.

"I don't know," he says eventually. "I thought we were sorted until you came along,"

I am no clearer. I don't want to push it but I need to know where I stand.

"So what happens now? With us, I mean."

Another long silence.

"All I know," he says, "Is that I don't regret what happened"

I nod. I want more than that but I don't want to scare him off by asking. I turn over, and catch sight of the alarm clock on Edward's bedside table. It is nine fifty-five.

"Shit. The time."

"It's all right," he says, "She won't be back until tomorrow. Some legal conference in London."

For once I hadn't been thinking about Tanya.

"The polls are about to close. I'm not going to make it in time. I won't be able to look at Colin in the eye at the count.

"Don't worry," Edward says, brushing the hair out of my eyes carefully, "No one ever looses by one vote."

***************************

I wake up. I am in my own bed. It's eleven-thirty in the morning. Jeez. I've had less than four hours' sleep. It was indeed a long night. I feel as if I've had my best dream followed by my worst nightmare. But that's not true. They were both real. And they both happened to me.

A mass of images are swirling in my head; Edward gazing longingly into my eyes as we make love, before the picture fades before it's replaced by Tanya's face smiling in blissful ignorance. The image blurs into Colin's stricken expression when the returning officer comes in to read out the results and he realises he has lost by one vote. Followed by Pike's smug grin as he acknowledges his closest of victories. And finally, my bemused and bewildered reflection as I stare into the bathroom mirror, struggling to comprehend that I set off this whole chain of events. And that I must now go to face the consequence.

My head aches as if I have a hangover, which I don't of course. It would be easier if I did. All I would have to do then is drink lots of fluids, go back to bed and sleep it off. Unfortunately this ache is not going to go away that easily.

I get out of my bed and draw back the curtains. The sun comes streaming in. A new day and a whole new era has dawned. Tony Blair is our shiny new leader, John Mayor nothing but a fading grey has-been, retreating into the distance with his defeated troops, a shell-shocked Michael Portillo lying mortally wounded in the battle field. But my own maelstrom has overshadowed it all. I haven't got time to celebrate the liberation of or country. I am too busy surveying the devastation around me.

I walk into the bathroom and look again at my face in the mirror. Guilt is seeping out of my pores and running down my cheeks. I slept with another woman's boyfriend. I have never done that before. I didn't think I was capable of it; I am not that kind of person. Or at least I wasn't – until last night. The awful thing is that although I know it was wrong, and although I feel terrible about Tanya, I don't regret it. Because it proved what I've always known. That Edward and I are meant to be together. And that I have never loved anyone as much as I love him.

I turn on the shower attachment and step into the bath. I can still smell Edward on me. Part of me wants to keep it that way, to never wash again. But I know I have to be mature about this. To retain some degree of common sense. I lean my head back and let the water cascade down my hair. I wonder if Tanya is home yet. And whether Edward has changed his mind about regretting last night having seen her. Having lied to her, or at the very least been economical with the truth. Things look different in the morning, in the cold light of the day. He may have well decided that it was a mistake. That he got carried away. Let his heart rule his head. A mistake not to be repeated.

Do I want it to happen again? Hell, yes! Bad as I feel and wrong as it was I cannot bear the thought of never touching his skin again. It was too good to be a one-night stand. It was too right.

I drop the shower gel on the bath. As I pick it up I realise my hands are still shaking. The mere thought of seeing Edward again is doing this to me. We are both due in work at twelve-thirty. A half-day off in lieu of the night shift. I can't imagine sitting at the far end of the office from him. Being so close but unable to touch him. Last night at the count the atmosphere in the town hall was so charged anyway, no one noticed what was going on between us. The looks, the sparks of energy, the sense of intimacy. Today it will be different. We will have to sit in the same office pretending nothing has happened, nothing has changed. And I don't want to do that. Because it did and I has.

I get dressed quickly and skip breakfast, or brunch, or whatever it would be by now. I don't think my stomach could deal with food at the moment. I grab my bag and hurry down to the car, turning the radio on as I drive off. Five Live are rounding the election coverage with a look at quirky stories from across the regions.

"Colin Leake must be the unluckiest man in Britain today," is how they start the report. I slam the brakes on to avoid crashing into the car in front. "Leake, the Labour candidate for Rugby and Kenilworth, failed to oust the sitting Tory MP George Pike by just one vote, making it the narrowest general defeat in post-war Britain.

They cut into an interview with Colin, which I vaguely remember him giving to the BBC local radio last night.

"It is bitterly disappointing to lose by such a narrow margin. I knew it was going to be close but had no idea of just _how _close. I have no complaints about the result: there were three recounts and I'm satisfied they got it right. I'm only sorry for the people in Rugby and Kenilworth that voted for me and deserve a labour MP to represent them."

The presenter is clearly taken with Colin's plight. He launches a phone-in on the back of it: 'Are you an unlucky loser? What have you so narrowedly missed out on?'

My knuckles have turned white I am gripping the steering wheel so hard. I fear my heart palpitations may soon lead to some kind of coronary. I a m half expecting the presenter to ask the listeners to hunt down the person who didn't vote for Colin. To turn them in so they can receive a deserved public flogging. Other drivers are looking at me, I'm not sure if it is because of my erratic driving or whether I have a neon sign that on the top of the Beetle: 'I'm the one who didn't vote for Colin'. It is worse that that though, because I don't even have a good excuse. It's not as if I was tending some ageing aunt in her deathbed or working on some voluntary charity project overseas. I was shagging somebody else's boyfriend for goodness' sake. The belief that he is the one, the absolute love of my life, can be submitted as mitigating circumstances but it does not change the fact that I committed a crime. I sink down in the driver's seat and put on my sunglasses even though it is not sunny. The first person rings up Five Live with their unlucky loser story. I turn off the radio.

Edward is already at his desk, reading the morning papers. He looks as if he has had even less sleep than me. He glances up as I walk into the office, makes momentary eye contact with me then looks straight back down again.

He regrets it. I am sure of it. Considers it a terrible mistake. He is probably wondering how he can get out of it without hurting my feelings.

"Hi, what a night you had," says Angela, peering over her glasses as I sit down. For a second I think she know, that Edward has spilled the beans, boasted of his conquest and it's all over town. Then I realise she's talking about Colin.

"I know, it was awful," I say, "He could barely speak last night, he was so cut up."

"Poor bastard's been on Sky and the BBC this morning." Angela says.

I groan and shake my head.

"Shame we can't find a mislaid ballot paper or two and wipe the smug grin off Pike's face," she continues.

"Yeah, that would be good," I say feeling my cheeks reddening.

"Still, at least the Tories are out," Angela says, "Did you see Portillo's face? What a picture. I bet Edward's going to get that blown up for his wall."

Edward look up, his eyes meeting Angela's not mine.

"I'm going one better than that," he says, "I'm getting it framed."

I burst out laughing then stop myself. Not even sure if it is right for me to laugh at his jokes anymore. I turn on my computer and start leafing through my shorthand notes from last night. Quotes from Pike and Colin. I hardly need my notebook, I remember most of them verbally, they are so ingrained in my mind. Nearly an hour passes before Edward says anything. He waits until Angela has nipped to the loo before venturing over to my side of the office.

"Are you OK?" he asks quietly.

I look up at him, struggling to keep my emotions under control.

"Yeah, I guess so," I say, "What about you?"

"Yeah fine." Fine, he says. That empty word that can mean completely anything, like nice, only even more vague. Well, he doesn't seem fine. And he sound like someone whose internal organs are in a torture chamber. I want to talk to him. Really talk to him. But before I can say anything else Angela comes back from the loo.

"So, keep it fairly tight, about 250 words per candidate should do," Edward says, retreating into safe news editor mode.

"Sure," I reply, nodding rather too enthusiastically. I can see Angela giving me a funny look out of the corner of my eye.

"So what time did you get to bed this morning?" she says.

"Oh, about seven, I think, by the time they'd finished counting."

"You must be knakered." She says, "I'm surprised you didn't get your head down for a few hours before the count last night."

I wonder how she knows I didn't. I decide not to reply in the hope she will leave it alone.

"Only I saw your Beetle in the car park when I left work," she continues.

Shit. I can't believe I didn't think of that. Serves me right for having such a distinct car. Angela is looking at me, waiting for my reply. I am not going to get away with ignoring her.

"I went for a bite to eat with Edward," I say, "Didn't have much at home. Anyway, I was too hyped up to sleep."

She nods. She doesn't seem convinced though. I have done nothing to ease her suspicions. I wonder if she knows more than she is letting on. My phone rings and I pick it up, relieved at the interruption. It is the front office downstairs.

"Bella, Colin Leake's here to see you," Lauren says s hint of annoyance in her tone.

My day is getting worse. It was bad enough interviewing him last night but at least we were both still in shock. Enough time has elapsed now for him to be utterly miserable. And for me to feel utterly guilty and responsible.

I pick up my notebook, though I suspect that Colin has come for a chat rather than to be interviewed, and go downstairs. He is standing by the front window, staring out blankly across the street. He has clearly had no sleep, and from the look of his ruffled hair and what I'm sure are last night's clothes, he hasn't been home. I take a deep breath.

"Hello Colin," I say, the guilt squelching in my shoes as I walk over to him, "How are you bearing up?"

Colin shrugs. "It hadn't really sink in last night but this morning when everyone's going on about the Labour landslide…"

I nod. He looks like he needs a good hug but I'm not sure I'm the person to give it. Being the one who didn't vote for him and all.

"I heard you on the radio" I say, " And Angela saw you on TV."

He rolls his eyes, "my fifteen minutes of fame as the man who lost by one vote. That's what I'll always be known as, you know. A loser."

He is staring disconsolately out of the window. I fear he is about to cry.

"Hey, come on," I say, "Where's the fighting spirit? You reduced a thirteen thousand majority to one single vote. That's heel of an achievement. And in four or five years' time you'll trounce Pike at the polls."

He shrugs again.

"Maybe," he says. His heart is clearly not in it anymore.

"Why don't you come up for a coffee," I say, "Edward's here and all the others."

Colin shakes his head. "No thanks, I'm not very good company at the moment. I just wanted to say thank you for all your efforts during the campaign. I do appreciate it, Bella. And please pass my thanks to Edward, You've both been a great help."

This is the point where I should confess. Hold my hand up and reveal my role in his defeat. I open my mouth but the right words don't come out.

"Yes, of course. I'm just sorry we couldn't do more."

I cringe as I say it. I am quite clearly a coward now as well as the sort f woman who sleeps with other people's boyfriends. Colin opens the door to leave.

"See you around," he says and trudges off down the street.

I let out the mother of all sighs and go back up the office, walking over to Edward's desk, a pained expression on my face.

"Colin's just been in. Says to say thank you for all we've doe to help."

Edward grimaces. "Oh God. How was he?"

"Not good. Take a look yourself." I say, pointing out the window. "He's the suicidal-looking guy, wandering aimlessly around."

Edward swivels round in his chair, watches Colin disappear down the corner and then turns to look at me.

"Sorry," he says.

My hands are clammy. I am not sure what he is talking about.

"What for?"

"For telling you no one ever looses by one vote."

"It's all right. I'll just never listen to another word you say ever again."

I smile. He smiles back. I wonder if that meant that we're OK again.

I go out on a feature later. Something Id arranged days ago, having no idea of the state I would be in at this point in time. I'm glad of the opportunity to get out of the office, though. To breathe properly again.

The woman I'm interviewing is anorexic. Deborah Saunders her name is. Nineteen years old and weighing barely five stones. She contacted us and ask if the _Rugby Chronicle _could do a feature about the lack of specialist treatment available for people with eating disorders. She lives with her parents in a small terraced house in Newton on the outskirts of Rugby. I pull up outside and knock on the door, my head still full of other things. Deborah's mother greets me. A tall gaunt woman with worry lines threatening to become crevices- She shows me into the front room where Deborah is sitting on the sofa, propped up by cushions as if she might fall over and snap in half without them. It is all I can do not to gasp out loud. I have never seen anyone so _thin _– her bony wrists, her limp hair, her pale skin. Her eyes appear huge in their sunken sockets; the hollows of her cheeks look as if they almost touch the inside of her mouth. It is only the photos on the window which prove that she was once a very pretty young teenager.

"Hi, I'm Bella Swan, from the _Chronicle. _Thanks for getting in touch."

She gets up and offers me her hand. I shake it lightly, fearing I nay snap her wrist. She is wearing a loos long-sleeved top and baggy jogging bottoms. Somewhere underneath there is what is left of her body. She sits back down again and I settle myself into the armchair opposite. Her mother leaves the room, perhaps unable to bear hearing what she is about to say. I ask Deborah about her family, giving her the opportunity to relax a little before I enquire about more sensitive matters. She is quietly spoken but very articulate. Very clear about what she has to say. She starts talking about her anorexia without any prompting from me. Says she was fourteen when it all started. She was getting bullied at school and her first boyfriend dumped her for a skinnier girl so she figured she would lose her 'puppy fat'. But when she had, her ex-boyfriend still didn't want her and the bullying continued, so she decided to lose some more. And then found out that she couldn't stop. And hasn't been able to ever since. She has been in and out of hospital more times than she cares to remember. Each time they stabilise her weight, send her back home without any support or therapy, and only when she gets dangerously ill do they admit her again. Her family have paid for her to have some private counselling but although it has helped she is desperate for specialist treatment. She mentions an eating disorder clinic in Leicestershire but says there is a long waiting list. And then she bursts into tears.

"I'm sorry," I say, fishing in my bag for a tissue and handing it to her. "Do you want a break? Say if you want me to go, I'll understand."

Deborah blows her nose and shakes her head. "No. Sometimes it gets to me, that's all. Talking helps though. My counsellor says so. Stops me bottling things up."

"As long as you're sure."

She nods her head, takes a few deep breaths, and carries on. Going into more detail this time. About the constant weighing, the vomiting, the obsessive exercising, all the hidden parts of an anorexic's daily life. By the time I leave, well over an hour since I came, I am full of admiration for her. I am emotionally drained. Deborah hugs me on the front doorstep.

"Thank you for coming," she says "Maybe your article will force them to do something."

"Let's hope so," I say sincerely, "Take care."

I get back in the car, feeling unworthy to even have been in the same room as her. I look at my watch. It is five-thirty. The others will have left the office by now. I have missed Edward. Missed the chance of talking to him. Of the comfort of being in his presence. I need to go back there anyway, to get my things. I hadn't plan on being here so long.

I let myself in the side door and climb back upstairs to the newsroom. The tears are massing at the corner of my eyes, waiting impatiently for the chance to escape. The newsroom door is open, silence pours from withing. And light. Someone has left the light on. I walk through. Edward is sitting at his desk, staring up at me. The tears begin their descent.

"Are you okay?" Edward asks. I shake my head, looking at him through blurry eyes. He stands up and comes over to me. Pulling me close to him. Enveloping me in his arms. I feel a release valve open, letting the tears and the tension drain away. I am comforted by the smell of him. The feel of is body next to me. I raise my head.

"Sorry," I say, "The anorexic woman. She looked terrible, it was awful. Kind of got to me."

Edward nods although we both know that is only a small part of it. That the source of these tears goes back beyond this afternoon."

"Poor you," he says, "You've had a tough day,"

He holds me for a long time. Until I am finally able to prise myself from his body. Only a couple of inches away, that is as far as I am going.

"Sorry," I say when I see the damp patch I have left on the shoulder of his shirt. He glances down.

"it doesn't matter, it'll dry."

I nod, feeling the warmth, the softness of his voice.

"It's been so hard," I say, "Not being able to talk to you properly,"

"I know," he says, "That's why I waited for you."

I smile. Relieved that he feels the same.

"I was worried you were going to say it was all a mistake."

He shakes his head. "The only thing I regret is the situation."

I know what he means, I want to ask about Tanya. Whether she is back yet. Whether he will be having sex with her tonight. But I can't put any pressure on. In case I scare him away.

"I've never… I feel really bad about what we dud." I say.

"Well, don't" he says, squeezing my shoulder. "Believe me, I feel bad enough for both of us."

I hesitate, unsure where we go from ere.

"So what happens now?" I ask.

Edward shrugs. "I'll tell you what should happen. We both go home and get a good night's sleep."

I try not to show how disappointed I am.

"If that's what you want," I say.

"It isn't, it's you I want."

He leans forward and kisses me. One kiss, one touch of his lips on mine is all it takes. The world is alright again.

**A/N: Umm...sorry about the bit of the anorexic girl..i had a a friend, Deborah, she died a year ago of anorexia and I had to put this bit on. For me. For her. For everyone that has ever suffered that illness or know someone who has or is going through it. Well, sooo...favourite line/part? Love it hate it? i don't know you have to tell me!! REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!! please?? pretty please with chocolate cream on top? yay!!**

**_In memory of Deborah Saunders. I root for you still. 29th August 2008 xx_**

**_-Angel on Air_**


	9. Chapter 9

**Guess who's back? Shady's backkk!! Okaay..sorry...Iwas just too tempted :S Sorry it took a while longer thanthe other chapters, let me tell you how it went: 3.9.09 I started school so Ithere I was, happily reuniting with my classmates and meeting my new teachers for this year. First day. _Homework. _And I don't mean a little stupid homework like telling a bit about yourself or anything, I mean hour-long-full-researching-at-three-in-the-morning-for-the-right-information-whilst-cursing-the-bloody-computer kind of homework. Ba-boom. So I didn't get time to rite until the weekend. On Tuesday night, I had just finished the chapter. I was pleased with myself, so I went to watch TV for a while..._leaving the computer on. _And just then all the lights in the house went out and I heard a 'puff' sound coming fromthe computer. Smoke was just oozing out of it. It was like gaaahhh HELL NO! So I had to have it repared and had to start the chapter again because the hard-disk was all dammaged. So I stayed all night to THIS chapter, completely disregarding I had a test the following day which I hadn't studied for. Uh huh. Tell me about it. I got a B+ though ^^ **

**ANYWAY, back to the actual chapter. Someone asked me if I would be having the rest of the gang coming into the story. I don't really know what to do, if they come, they're really just going to have a weeny bit of attention not much, just around the background. I'm not really interested in having them in, but tell me what you think!! In a review? YAY! well, sorry for the insane length of the A/N....LET'S GET READING!**

Chapter 9: We could have it all

BPOV

Tuesday 27th May, 2001

I am not very good at this. Being the other woman. It has been going on for nearly a month now, and it is making me ill. Most of the time I feel sick with guilt. Scarlet woman, cheat, bitch. That is what I say to myself when I look in the bathroom mirror. I used to hate people like me, who trample all over other women to steal their men. Now I am one of them. I have crossed to the other side. The only way I have found to stop the self-loathing is to tell myself that this behaviour is somehow virtuous. That Tanya and Edward are incompatible. That if he really did love her then he wouldn't be doing this and I am therefore doing both of them a favour by encouraging him to see sense and break up with her sooner rather than later. I even have references for 'Why it is sometimes right to sleep with someone else's boyfriend' thesis. I cite the divorce statistics. Point out that people often find out too late that the person they thought was The One isn't. And if they discovered it earlier, perhaps by having an affair with someone else whom the suspected might actually be the right one, Britain's divorce statistics would plummet. It is all bollocks, of course. My desperate, flawed, logic. It is all I have to cling to. The idea that he is the right one for me, that once we get over this minor complication of his girlfriend sorted out we will be together for life. And that makes it all okay.

Bur for now we are not together. Not publicly, at least. So we have to pretend. We tiptoe around each other trying to get the balance right. Between not smiling, speaking, lingering too much , in case it gives the game away, or avoiding each other so much that the others guess there is something going on. I scream inside as we do it. Because I cannot scream out loud.

Edward walks past me on the way to the photocopier. My arms try to pull away from me and touch him. I have to drag them back, put myself in an imaginary straightjacket. It is the only way I can control myself. A month ago he would have said something, made some wisecrack or wound me up about a story I had written. But today he says nothing. Head down, blinkers on, to the photocopier and back in record time. No one would guess we would be having sex in a few hours, desperately reacquainting ourselves with each other's bodies.

It has been three days. Three days too long. I exist for the time I spend with him. Alone. Away from the others, away from her. Mostly at my flat but occasionally, if she is away, at his. He is coming to mine this evening. Seven thirty. He has told her he's going to the gym. But he will be working on a sweat with me instead. I shouldn't say that because it's not funny. I know that.

I busy myself for the rest of the afternoon. The phone tucked under my ear, my hand scribbling furiously in the notebook. I am counting the seconds, filling time. Until I can be me. Because it is only when I'm alone with him that I come alive. The ret of the time I am taking in air but not breathing. There is an umbilical cord between us that the others can't see. He gives me nourishment, oxygen. I take it all greedily. And me? I offer the promise of a better future, if he would only choose it.

I leave before him; he says goodbye as I walk out. Although it is not goodbye, more au revoir. I run a bath as soon as I get home. Sinking into the warm water, letting the smell of lavender waft over me. A sense of anticipation fills me, gently easing out the guilt. Telling me it is okay. Because he is the one. When I eventually haul myself out and get dressed I do not put any underwear on. He likes it that way. And I like to please him. I pour myself a vodka, knowing it will help to chase the last of the guilt away. The aching inside me deepens, now that the time is near. I put the kettle on. It is all part of the ritual. Sometimes I actually manage to get as far as making us mugs of coffee. Though we never drink it. It is stone cold by the time we finish.

The bell in my flat rings. I always worry that it could be the last time. But he keeps coming back. I don't hurry. I figure he will need a moment or two to compose himself. Switch whatever button it is he switches when he moves between Tanya and me.

I open the door without showing my face; as if I'm a celebrity, afraid of being snapped by the paparazzi outside. He steps inside, gym bag slung over his shoulder. The deceit entering with him. Neither of us says anything. He follows me upstairs, always I lead the way. We go through to my flat, shut the door and it starts. In a flurry, a panic, as if we might never get to do this again. Because maybe we won't. Maybe every time he sees me he intends to tell me this is the last time, it is over. Maybe that's why it feels so desperate, so passionate, much like the first and last time all rolled into one.

I can smell her perfume on him. It clogs up my throat and threatens to suffocate me but I have to suffer in silence. To even cough would be to acknowledge her existence. And he has left her now, he is a kind of no-man's land. It is my job to see him safely across to my side.

We don't even undress properly today. As soon as he realises I haven't got any underwear on I am up against the wall, my long flowing skirt hitched up, my legs wrapped around him as he supports my entire weight. I have to undo his trousers for him. I cling on to his shirt, feeling the cotton creak under the strain. I hope it will rip, a sign of how powerful this is, how it is tearing _me _apart.

I am conscious of how thin the walls on these apartments are but there is nothing I can do. If any of my neighbours are in, they will have to turn on the TV louder, put a CD at full volume, anything to block out the sound of someone having a better time than them.

Afterwards we sink down together on the floor, me sitting astride him, picking the damp strands of hair from his face. It is only now he speaks.

"I hope you weren't walking around like that all day,"

"Why? Afraid I got too close to one of the fans?"

"Just not sure I can control myself at work if I know in what state you're in."

"Don't worry. I save this just for you,"

He smiles and kisses me on the nose. It is unmistakable. A fond kiss. It means more than all the passionate, sexual one put together. Every now and then he slips up and says or does something like that. Always it makes him uncomfortable, perhaps realising he has crossed the line again. He gets round it this time by taking my top off and fondling my breasts. If in no doubt go back to the sex. Then we can kid ourselves that there is nothing more to it than that. When we both know that this is not the case. Because we are not in this for laughs, for some cheap thrill. This isn't some little seedy office affair. It is something far deeper, far scarier. Because neither of us knows how to stop it. Even if we wanted to.

We end up lying on my bed, naked, breathing hard. My body entwined with his. We talk about all sorts of stuff. Not us, that is strictly off limits. But we chat about other stuff: what, in Edward's words, 'this whole Cool Britannia bollocks' is about, whether Di and Dodi will get hitched and why Tony Blair is fast disappearing up his own arse. Idle speculation, all of it, but it passes time. And I welcome anything that will give me a moment or two longer with him. I can't deal with him leaving straight after sex, before I've even got my breath back, that is cheap and nasty. Talk isn't cheap. It's what normal couples do. It makes it acceptable. Allows me to pretend this is a proper relationship. And that he isn't about to run back to his girlfriend.

I trace my finger down his spine, wondering if she does this. And if it makes his skin tingle in the same way. I tell myself it can't do. Otherwise he wouldn't be here, would he? It's always at this point I start to wobble. Knowing that any second now he is going to utter those three little words, 'I'd better go'.

I think of distraction techniques. We could have sex again, he has te stamina for it, but that's not really what I want. I could ask him to do some job for me, fix the dripping tap. But that would make me sound like a drag, some nagging housewife. My role is to provide something different, whatever it is missing from his relationship. He never talks about her. I guess he thinks I don't want to hear it and he is mostly right. But occasionally curiosity gets the better of me. I want to peek at their little word, get some inkling of what it is that keeps him going back to her. Instead of staying with me.

I feel my jaw tighten. It will start clicking soon, though normally not until he is getting dressed. My pulse quickens, my breaths shallow. It is fight or flight time. Though I feel incapable of uttering a word of resistance and I haven't got anywhere to run to. He is the one who does the running. I pretend it is fine, him leaving me like this. Keen not to appear desperate or clingy in case he finds it unattractive. I may hate his going but I have to ensure he keeps coming back.

"Anyway," he says. I know the words which are coming next. I think he realises this because he doesn't even bother to say them. Just swings his legs over the side of the bed, starts prowling around the flat collecting his clothes. I watch his naked figure disappear into the bathroom and hear him peeing loudly. Sometimes I wish he would piss against the wall, mark his territory like some male tiger, fiercely protective of its mate. Any signal that this is his patch, that he is here to stay, not simply passing through.

Edward comes back into the room fully clothed. I am still lying naked on the bed, unable to bring myself to move. The last desperate act of a desperate woman. It doesn't work though. Mentally he has pulled the shutters down. He bends down to kiss me.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

It is meant to sound casual while at the same time giving me the reassurance that he knows I want. It is easy for him though. Because what he means is that he will see me at work. It's not the commitment to me he is offering but to his job. The resistance weakens and something inside me cracks.

"Can't you stay a bit longer?" I say.

I know instantly from Edward's expression that I have done wrong, overstepped the mark.

"Please don't, Bella." he says, "this is hard enough as it is?" And before I can think of what to say in reply he picks up his holdhall and leaves, pulling the door to behind him.

I turn over and bury my head in the pillow, seeking some kind of comfort, or perhaps to block it all out. I have done it now. I have upset him. Started wanting more than he could give me. It has tipped the balance, changed the chemistry. We have both seen _Fatal Attraction_. It is a slippery slope from here; I am only a few moves away from becoming a bunny boiler.

I had to do it, didn't I? Had to go and spoil things. Except that is not really true. Things were already spoilt. They have been from the beginning. I simply pointed it out instead of carrying on ignoring it. I try to go to sleep but my head won't let me. It is in overdrive now, paranoia gear. What if that is it? What if he doesn't want to see me again? What if he is cursing me now as he drives back home? Looking forward to seeing Tanya? To fucking _her _tonight?

I get up and start busying myself, tidying, washing up. When there is nothing left to tidy I cook myself some dinner, nothing fancy, a pasta dish with some sauce from a jar. It isn't worth going to any more trouble because I know I won't eat much. It has been going for some weeks now. Ever since I started sleeping with Edward. I sometime manage a slice of toast in the morning but several times I have even thrown that up. It's my body's way of punishing me. Of making me suffer for my sins.

I sit at the table, winding the spaghetti round my fork. It is good, spaghetti. Takes a lot of concentration. Several times it slips off my fork as I raise it, splashing blood-red tomato sauce against my white shirt. Stupid. I should have thought. Put a grubby old sweatshirt on instead. I kind of like it though. Seeing the red splattered down my front. It makes it tangible somehow. The hurt inside.

*********************

I manage about two mouthfuls. My stomach won't allow any more, although I ws hungry an hour ago. My body no longer allows me to eat. No longer allows me to do a lot of things, like breathe properly, sleep, function at a normal level. It is making me ill, I know that. But I find strange comfort in it. Because this wretched feeling inside is the one thing she can't take away from me.

The night passes in the normal mixture of sleeplessness, as I taunt myself with images of the two of them together, and, when I do eventually nod off, the usual vivid dream. The one where Edward and me are making love in his bedroom when Tanya comes in, tears streaming down her face, and I stop to offer her a tissue. Before going straight back to the sex. Because that is the sort of woman I am now.

I wake with a start and haul myself out of bed, deciding to skip breakfast. It is a different sensation that overpowers hunger now. The one I get before I am due to see him. Like the leaving sensation turned inside out, so that the excitement comes after the gut-wrenching hurt. It twists tighter as I climb the steps to the office, exploding inside me as I catch my first glimpse of him, bent over the office copy of _The Guardian_, the strands of copper hair like fingers caressing his face.

"Morning," I say. It is directed to him but applies to everyone.

He looks up and returns the greeting with a smile. He has to smile, it would seem weird to the others if he didn't smile because he smiles at everyone. Usually the smile he saves for me is subtly different. Not to everyone else's eyes but apparent to mine. Today I am not so sure.

I sit down heavily in my chair. I feel like a mouse who is being toyed with by a cat. Unsure whether I am about to be finished of or whether I will have to endure another mauling first.

Angela buzzes past.

"Morning Bells," she says, then stops to take a second look, " Are you okay?

"Yeah, fine,"

"Only you look a bit pale,"

"I'm fine," I say again.

But I am very far from fucking fine. My hands are clammy, my legs weak. Something is draining from my head and running out of the end of my toes. The room starts spinning. I realise what is going to happen but not in enough time to stop it.

I come to as Angela wafts a handkerchief in front of my nose. I am sitting on the floor, my legs astride-like I was last night. Only this time Edward is standing above me looking concerned. 'Fuck' his eyes are saying.

"She's back with us," Angela says, "Give the girl some space, she needs to get some air."

Dave and Karen go back to their desks.

"I'm okay," I say. Angela hands me a glass of water.

"You had us worried there," she says, "Do you want to call a doctor?"

"No, I'll be fine. Didn't have any breakfast this morning, that's all."

Angela looks at me and then at Edward who is hovering above us. I think she knows more than she is letting on. They help me back on my chair.

"Give me ten minutes, I'll be fine," I say, "Nothing a bacon buttie can't solve."

"You're not staying here!" says Angela, "You're going home. Edward will take you, you're not fit to drive." She fixes Edward with a look, making it clear he has no say in the matter.

"Angela's right," Edward sys, "You're best off at home,"

I don't argue. The chance of ten minutes alone with Edward is too good an opportunity to miss. Edward picks up my bag and the two of them help me down the back stairs. It is only when we are out of earshot that Angela speaks.

"I don't know what's going on between you two but I suggest you put an end to it right away. Before someone gets hurt. Seriously hurt."

We nod solemnly. Angela turns back and goes back upstairs. We set off for the car park. Edward is holding my arm like I am some old lady he is escorting across the road. I get into the passenger seat, feeling the colour start to return to my cheeks.

"Why aren't you eating?" he says.

Edward doesn't usually ask dumb questions. I struggle to find an answer he might want to hear as he pulls away.

"I was in a rush."

"When was the last time you weren't in a rush?

"Yesterday lunchtime. I had a sandwich."

I see him shake his head. I'm not sure who he is mad at, me or himself. I assume it is me.

I know this is my chance. I have probably already blown it, so I have nothing left to lose. And he can't leave for at least a few minutes.

"I'm not cut out like this," I say, "I can't turn my feelings on and off depending when you're available. I don't work like that."  
"I know," he sighs, "I know."

"I can't go on like this. It is making me ill. I want you to choose. Me or her."

The ultimatum startles me probably as much as it does Edward. He is staring straight ahead at the road but I can see the muscles in his neck tense, his eyebrows rise. We sit in an awkward silence until he pulls up outside my flat. I wonder if he is thinking about what to say or if he has simply pretending he didn't hear. He sees me up the stairs and in the front door.

"Have you got any food in?" he says.

I nod.  
"Then please eat something," he says, "I can't bear seeing you like this,"

"I meant what I said, Edward, I need a decision. Soon"

He nods, turns and leaves. The stomach churning starts again.

**So what d'ya think? like it, hate it? Favourite line/part?? PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE let me know!! so review!! heh heh :D Also, someone asked me if I could put the song's names and stuff for all the chapters so here it goes :D:D ;**

**Title: Hurt~Chrristina Aguilera**

**Chp.1:Broken~Lifehouse ( I recomend you to kisten to this song for this story, I thinkit tells you exactly how Bella feels)**

**Chp.2:New beginnings--not a song :S**

**Chp.3:Another kind of light ~The Posies--only it's not a song it's the album's name heh heh**

**Chp.4:Don't let the sun go down on me~George Michael and Elton John**

**Chp.5:Everytime we touch~Maggie Reilly**

**Chp.6:Love's Divine~Seal**

**Chp.7:Take the long way home~Supertramp**

**Chp.8:The morning after~Maureen Mcgovern**

**Chp.9:We could have it all~Maureen Mcgovern**

**Hope to update soon!! REVIEW! :D:D:D:D:D:D:D::D:DD::DD::D:D:DD::D:D**


	10. Chapter 10

***Bows down low and clears throat* After the intense 48-hour period, the readers have decided with their private messages and their reviews to this story...that OPTION B has won!!! with an astounding 8 point lead. Frigging amazing, isn't it?? Well sorry about that, I just had to say it. So this chapter is the, err, 'important chapter'(option B) you have chosen. Don't worry to the other people who voted for the other options, they will come, just in bit of time, 'kay? :D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D I managed to update quite early since I haven't been to school because I'm ill ( not swine flu though, don't worry xD) So here it is, 'Broken' by Lifehouse........... LET'S GET READING!!**

Chapter 10: Broken

_The broken clock is a comfort,__  
it helps me sleep tonight  
Maybe it can stop tomorrow  
from stealing all my time  
I am here still waiting__  
though I still have my doubts  
I am damaged at best,__  
like you've already figured out_

_I'm falling apart, I  
'm barely breathing  
With a broken heart__  
that's still beating  
In the pain  
there is healing  
In your name__  
I find meaning__  
So I'm holdin' on,__  
I'm holdin' on,__  
I'm holdin' on  
I'm barely holdin' on to you_

BPOV

Saturday 7th June, 2001

I am not going. I have changed my mind five times since I woke this morning but as I stare at yet another untouched lunch, I know the decision is final. Edward's thirtieth birthday party will happen without me. I desperately want to be there with him, to share in the celebration. Especially on the actual day of his birthday. But I cannot bear the thought of seeing him with her. Properly with her. Dancing and smooching and kissing and being all over each other. That is what it will be like. And I can either stand there and watch or stay home and play some loud music to drown out the hurt. I am opting for solitude over torture. It is not much of a choice.

The party is in the function room at O'Neill's. Everyone else is going. All the gang from work, loads of his union mates, even some contacts, people like Colin Leake. Edward thinks I'm going too. "See you tomorrow," he said. I nodded. Unable to tell him of the turmoil going on inside me. He still hasn't given me an answer to my ultimatum. But we haven't seen eac other since. Not properly. Not outside work. I take it that means he is still making his minds up. Though maybe it means he has chosen her and simply hasn't been able to face telling me yet. I should end it myself, of course. You don't give ultimatums unless you're prepared to carry them through. But I love him so much I am not strong enough to do it. This relationship, if you call it that, has sapped every ounce of strength from me. I am tired. Emotionally drained. I will simply have to wait to be put out of my misery.

I will make up some excuse about why I didn't go on Monday. Say I had a stomach bug, some twenty-four hour thing. Edward will know the real reason but hopefully the others will buy it. They will all be talking about the party, of course, but I think I can cope with that. It is the being there I have a problem with.

I scrape the contents of my plate into the bin. I hear my other telling me that wasting good food is sinful. Although no doubt that would pale in insignificance on my mother's sin scale compared with having an affair with someone else's boyfriend.

The phone rings. It is Angela.

"Hi, Bella. Wondered if you wanted a lift to Edward's do tonight."

The offer takes me by surprise.  
"Er, I don't think I'm going,"

My reply does not come out as certain as I had intended. Nor do I sound at all poorly.

"Oh. Why's that?" Angela asks.

"I'm not feeling brilliant. Think I'm going with some kind of bug or something. I should probably get an early night."

"Nonsense. Don't be a party pooper. What you need is a good night out, blow the cobwebs away."

I suspect Angela knows the real reason I don't want to go. But neither of us is going to say it.

"I'm not sure I'm up to it."

"I'll do you a deal" Angela says, "I'll pick you tp at eight. If you feel rough later I'll ferry you home. You can't say fairer than that."

"I don't want to spoil your night out"

"The only way you're going to spoil it is by not turning up. None of the other buggers will dance with me. Reckon I show them up."

I manage a faint laugh. "I probably won't stay long."

"No problem. See you at eight!"  
Angela puts the phone down before I get the chance to protest any further. Cinderella will go to the ball. A tiny part of me is excited, mentally scanning my wardrobe to decide what to wear. The rest of me is already regretting changing my mind.

***************

We are among the first to arrive. The function room still feels like a function room rather than a party venue. Empty chairs arranged neatly round tables, the air free of cigarette smoke, the floor squeaky clean. Edward is deep in conversation with the DJ, both with their heads bowed, rummaging in boxes. I scan the room but can't see Tanya, though she must be here somewhere

"I'll get the drinks in," Angela says, "You grab a table before everyone else arrives. One near the disco. I like my music loud."

I do as I am told. As I sit down I notice Colin standing on his own in the corner. He hasn't been into the office much since the general election. I see him at council meetings but it is not the same. I suspect he is still struggling to come to terms with the defeat. He is wearing jeans and a crumpled stripy shirt. He doesn't appear to have shaved for a couple of days. I beckon him over. He seems pleased to see a familiar face.

"Come and join us," I say, "Angela's at the bar. Can we get you one in?"

"I'm okay, thanks, Bella," he says, raising a half full pint glass. "I'm pacing myself. Edward tells me they've got a licence extension until midnight. Bloody ridiculous, if you ask me. What with this being a residential area."

I smile. Clearly he is more at home at council committee meetings than parties. Angela comes back from the bar with our drinks.

"Hello, Colin" she says. "I expect to see you up on the dance floor later. I always had you down as bit of a secret groover."

Colin shakes his head.

"I don't think so," he says, "Dancing is not really my thing. No sense of rhythm and two left feet, I'm afraid."  
I nod distractedly. Edward has stopped talking to the DJ and is walking towards us. He is wearing black jeans and a black t-shirt. He looks good enough to eat.

"Hey, three of my favourite people," he says, "Glad you could all make it"  
Just then he eyes my outfit and I swear his eyes nearly fell out of his sockets. I smile inwardly but scold myself as I do so. He kisses Angela, shakes Colin's hand warmly then bends down and kisses my cheek. His hand squeezes my bare shoulder as he does so. It is over in a second. But the spark leaves a tingling sensation all the way down my arm.

"Happy birthday, " I say, handing him a card. I wanted to get him a present as well but decided the others would think it inappropriate. It is a Far Side card. I laughed when I read it in the shop. Edward opens the envelope and laughs too.

"Thanks Bella," he says, "All the others have been jokes about my age. Anyone would think I was turning something ancient like forty or something, eh, Angela?"

"Piss off, Cullen. I'm still a long way from forty. And I can outlast you on the dance floor." Angela says.

"We'll see about that later," Edward says, "What about you, Colin? How long till you hit the big four-zero?

"Err, three more years, if I remember rightly."

I try not to look surprised. Colin looks at least fifteen years older than Edward.

"Mind you, it's OK for a politician," says Edward, "Maturity will get you more votes. Lets you play the experience card."

"I don't know," says Colin with a shrug, "They all seem to be getting younger these days. Look at Blair and all his babes, or whatever they call them. Sandra reckons I'll be past my prime after the general election."

"Don't you believe her," says Edward, "Anyway, where is Sandra tonight?"  
Colin hesitates.

"She's, err, havig a quiet night in. Parties aren't her thing." He looks down and shuffles his feet. I sense all is not well at home.

"And where's Tanya?" Angela asks Edward, in an apparent effort to change the subject.

"Oh, she's coming later with her sister. I left her getting ready. Didn't want to be late for my own party. I'd never hear the end of it."

He is avoiding eye contact with me, maybe because he is talking about Tanya. Maybe because he hasn't decided. Or maybe because he has.

"Anyway, I'd better go and mingle with my other guests." He says, "I'll catch you later"

I watch him walk off, my card still in his hand. His touch still on my shoulder. The ache still deep inside. The DJ puts on 'Love Shack' by the B52s.  
"Come on, Bells," says Angela, "If you'll excuse us, Colin. I think it's our duty to start off the dancing."

I allow Angela to drag me up with her. She is indeed an enthusiastic dancer, whooping with delight as she struts her stuff. But she is having far too much of a laugh to be embarrassing. Edward is chatting to someone at the bar but every now and then he glances over at us and smiles. I am not sure if he is smiling at or at Angela's dancing.

Half an hour later or so Colin gestures that he is getting another round in. We mouth our requests to him. Neither of us wants to stop dancing. The music is good. The Stones, the Clash, the Jam and some motown, soul and eighties stuff thrown in. All clearly Edward's choices. I have lost sight of him for the moment. It doesn't matter though. I can still see him inside my head. And feel his presence in the room. The dance floor is getting crowded. I become separated from Angela, hemmed into a corner by a couple with flailing arms and legs. The air is getting heavy: a heady mix of alcohol, sweat and smoke. Van Morrison's ' Brown Eyed Girl' comes on. I love this track. I shut my eyes for a second, losing myself in the music. I feel a hand fall lightly on my hip, a second later another hand on the other side. I know who it is without looking. He is singing in my ear, 'Sha, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, te, da'. I allow my eyes to open, half scared it might be a dream. He is here though, right behind me, our bodies moving together as if they have been programmed by computer. I glance over my shoulder. For once he is not smiling. He is looking at me with hunger in his eyes.

"I've missed you," Edward whispers in my ear.

I smile at him as I toss back my hair. Allowing myself to get carried away. To think that means he has chosen me. I don't push it. I'll wait for him to tell me when the moment is right.

"Good, I've missed you to." I say.

"You look stunning," Edward says.

I am wearing an off-the-shoulder top, tight-fitting black jeans and black heels. I figured it wasn't a little black dress kind of do.

"Thanks" he pulls me even closer, our hips gyrating to the music. I have a theory you can tell how good people are in bed by how they dance. Edward proves the theory. And right now I want to go to bed with him. I can even feel my panties moisten at the thought. I know I shouldn't be doing this. Even dancing with him, let alone anything else. But I am oblivious of everyone around us. This is about me and Edward. About how good we are together. Van the man merges into Simple Minds' 'Don't you forget about me'. Somehow the moment is lost. A handful of people leave the dance floor. I am aware we are suddenly conspicuous. Edward lets go of my hips and moves away slightly. I see her at the same moment Edward does. A vision in red entering the room. The only woman I've ever known who can carry off a little red strapless number without even bordering on tacky. Tanya is here. The pendulum swings again.

"I'll catch you later" Edward says. And with that he has gone. I realise my legs have stopped moving. I decide to sit down.

"Thanks," I say to Colin as I pick up my drink.

"I bet you needed it after all that dancing," he says, "You and Edward reminded me of that scene in _Grease_."

"Oh," I say. I hadn't realised Colin could see us.

"The one at the end when they're both dressed in black and dancing together. What's the song they sing again?"

"'You're the one that I want'" I say, still with one eye on Edward and Tanya. He can't take his eyes off her. I am thinking of the other scene in _Grease_. The one where Danny and Sandy are doing really well in the dancing competition until Cha Cha steams in and steals him from her. I gulp my drink down, depositing the empty glass in the table with a thud.

"Can I get you another, Colin?"

"Err, no. I'm fine, thank you," he says, "Haven't really started this one, you see.

I make my way to the bar. Edward is chatting to Tanya and her sister, The sister is pretty without being a head turner. It is Tanya who is getting noticed. Edward has his arm draped round her shoulders now. It is starting to hurt. Starting to seem like a bad idea to be here.

Karen and Dave from work arrive while I am at the bar. Karen with her boyfriend in tow, tall and equally earnest-looking, and Dave clutching his roll of toilet paper.

"Sinuses playing up again," he says. I nod. Even less interested than usual. They help me back to the table with the drinks. Angela is still dancing, the Duracell batteries showing no sign of running out. The DJ fades out Frankie Goes To Hollywood.

"A few announcements to make, folks," he says. "The first is that the buffet is now open." Someone at the back cheers. "And your host Edward would like a quick word."

The dance floor clears. Angela sits down and takes a swig of her Diet Coke. Edward hurries up to the mike, Tanya trailing a few step behind.

"Just wanted to thank you all for coming to my birthday bash," Edward says, "And for all the rude cards and not so rude presents. And to say I expect to see some serious partying from now until midnight," he steps back and goes to walk away. The DJ stops him.

"Hang on a minute, Edward. Someone else would like a word,"

Tanya steps forward. She is smiling one of those nervous-looking smiles. I notice her hand is shaking as she holds the mike.

"Edward has no idea what this is about," she says.

He shakes his head. He appears anxious. I wonder if she's got him a stripogram girl. I can't imagine he'd like it if she has. Though he would probably go along, simply so that she didn't lose face.

"But I wanted to take this opportunity to ask him a question," continues Tanya, "A very important question. And I want all of you to be my witnesses in case he can't remember what he said next morning."

She does the nervous laugh thing again and turns to Edward. She hasn't got him s striper at all. I didn't think it was her style. I know what she is going to ask him. I mouth the words as she says them. In a strong, unfaltering voice.

"Will you marry me?" She said, tears glistening in her eyes.

Everyone stood still, waiting for him to reply. 'Say yes' the crowd seem to say, all of them with their eyes cast on him, the only man I've loved.

'Say no, please, please, _please_ say no' I prayed over and over again, even though I knew what was about to happen.

"I will." And then suddenly the whole crowd erupted into loud cheers of congratulations as the couple kissed, seemingly unaware of the people surrounding them. I saw her kissing him, Edward, _my_ Edward.

And my world just fell apart.

I find myself shaking my head. Shaking it so vigorously my hair flies from side to side. Our eyes meet for only a millisecond. He looks away again, back to his soon-to-be-wife.  
The bullet punctures my lungs, forcing me to gasp for air. I did not expect my life to be over so quickly. I am only twenty-three years old. I am supposed to have it all before me. Not feel it ebbing away. I feel sick and light-headed. The room spins a little. I hear Rapunzel calling.

The guests star clapping and cheering. Tanya throws her arms round Edward in delight. His eyes are shut. He does not open them for a long time. When he does he looks momentarily stunned, before he realises everyone is watching him and he breaks into a smile. Tanya kisses him on the lips again, pulling him closer, her grip on him tightening.

The cheering subsides a little and the DJ takes over again.

"Congratulations to the happy couple," he says, "There's afree glass of champagne for everyone at the bar, courtesy of the bride-to-be's father. Tanya tells me Edward is allergic to Cliff Richard, so I'm going to play this one instead. Billy Idol's 'White Wedding' comes on. People head off to the bar or buffet. Tanya's sister rushes up to her to give her a huge hug. Edward is left standing awkwardly a few yards from our table.

"Congratulations," Angela calls out.

There is a mumbled chorus of congratulations from the others. Edward nods in acknowledgement. I try to catch his eye but he is avoiding me. He has forgotten to stop smiling. I am still struggling to breathe. I need to get some air.

"Excuse me" I say, getting up quickly and stumbling over the table leg as I grab my bag.

"Eh, Bella's off to get her free champagne while she can still walk," says Dave. I ignore him and carry on walking. Through the crowds of champagne-quaffing party goers, out of the room, down the stairs and out the front door. The fresh air hits me hard. I sit down on a low wall and hold my head in my hands. It was the one thing that I hadn't expected when I gave him the ultimatum. That someone else would make the decision for him. I wonder if Tanya suspected. If she has picked up on something about Edward's behaviour. Decided to tie him down quickly before he slipped through the net. I have always said it is a sign of insecurity - people who propose in public. There is no reason to do it unless you are worried the person might say no. Maybe I should have shouted out my proposal as well. Turned it into some sort of game show. See if I could outbid Tanya. Not with money. She would win that hands down. With love.

"Are you OK? Angela sits down beside me on the wall.

"Yeah," I say, looking up, "Just feeling a bit rough."  
"You don't have to pretend, Bella. I've seen the way you two look at each other. I know there's been something going on."

I burst into tears. Huge, hot tears, cascading down my cheeks. Angela produces a tissue from her jeans pocket and hands it to me as she puts an arm round my shoulder.

"Hey, I'm sorry," she says, "have you two…"

I nod my head quickly. Not wanting her to say it out loud.  
I know I shouldn't have," I say. "I feel awful about it. But I really do love him. And I genuinely though he was going to finish with her."

That's what they always say, love," says Angela.

I shake my head, desperate for her to understand that it wasn't like that.

"No, I'd given him an ultimatum. I actually think he's chosen me, something he said earlier. And then she went and blew it."

"You poor cow," says Angela, giving me another hug, "For what it's worth, I think he made the wrong choice."

I start to sob uncontrollably, "I can't believe that's it. That it could end so cruelly."

"Life's a bitch," she says, "Just asks Colin."

I wince with pain at the reminder and shake my head. "But Edward and I are so good together. He's the one. I can't let it go, like it's no big deal"

"I'm afraid you're going to have to," Angela says, stroking my arm, "He is marrying her, Bella. It's over"

She holds me while I cry some more. Then lifts up my chin and wipes away the tears from my face. For the first time I am aware of the people walking past staring at me as if I am some drunken wreck who's had a lover's tiff.  
"So what do I do now?" I say, clutching the crumpled tissue in my hand.

"You pop to the ladies, clean your face up and go back in there and show him what he's missing. It won't change anything but it will make you feel a tiny bit better,"

I manage a watery semblance. "It's not going to be easy."

"I know. But it's the only way to go. I work with both of you, remember. I don't want some horrible atmosphere. There's no reason why you can't still be friends."

I nod although I don't think it will be possible. Not for me anyway. Angela gives me a hug.

"That's the spirit. See you on the dance floor," she says. I sit there for a few more minutes after she has gone, trying to gather my thoughts. My strength. Eventually I stand up, steady myself a second and go back inside. I make it to the ladies' loos without anyone seeing me. I shut the cubicle door and let the rest of the tears out. No point in cleaning up until the flood has subsided. Eventually I make it to the sinks and splash some cold water on my face, making my hot eyes sting. I glance in the mirror. I look awful. I'm not sure there is something in my make-up bag capable of repairing the damage but I figure I should at least have a go. My hand is shaking as I apply the eyeliner. All I am doing is papering over the cracks. I do not intend to stay long. It only needs to last until I get home.

I leave the harsh lights of the ladies behind and emerge into the welcome hazy darkness. I head straight for the dance floor. Angela is somewhere in the thick of it. I see Edward and Tanya dancing together. Edward looks up, catches my eye and looks straight back down again. Alanis Morissette is playing. I understand why she is so angry now. Why she has to swish her hair like that. I spit the words out with her as I shut my eyes and dance like crazy. It is only when the song has finished I realise I am crying again. I stumble over to the table, pick up my bag without saying a word to the others and head for the exit. Before I get there, someone grabs my arm.

"Bella, wait" Edward says.

I turn to face him. His eyes burning with confusion. His face begging for forgiveness. He gestures towards the corridor outside. I nod and follow him to the far end, away from the noise and anyone who might overhear.

"I'm so sorry," he says, "I had no idea."

"I know," I say, fighting to keep the tears from spilling over again, "But that doesn't make it any easier."

Edward sighs. A long, drawn-out sigh. "I didn't see what else I could say in the circumstances."

I shake my head. "That's a lousy reason for agreeing to marrysomeone."

He looks taken aback, "She's my girlfriend, Bella. I do love her."

"Yeah right. So much you were having an affair with me."

He is visibly wounded this time, "Please don't, Bella. I didn't want it to turn this way."

"So how did you want it to turn out? Only I never got a proper answer"

Edward shrugs, "It doesn't matter now, does it?"

"You said you missed me. Tonight, when we were dancing,"

He shuts his eyes for a second, as if reliving the conversation. "And I meant it."

"So doesn't that count for anything?"

He runs his fingers through his bronze locks. "It was an impossible situation, Bella. At least this way it gets sorted out. At least you've got your answer."

I look at him, unable to believe that he means that. And that he thinks that will satisfy me.  
"And what about us?" My voice is high-pitched and wobbly. I am struggling to hold it together.

"There can't be an us, Bella…not any more. I'm sorry. I really am."

He looks away. I swear I saw a tear in hi eye. We stand in silence for a minute or two. Neither of us seeming able to speak but also unwilling to go away.

"I'd better go back in," he says, after a while. "Will you be all right? Shall I ask Angela to run you home?"

"No, she's enjoying herself. I don't want to ruin anyone else's party."

"Can I call a cab then?"  
I shake my head. "No, it's okay. I could do with the walk. And to be on my own."

He nods. Still neither of us has moved.

"What shall I tell the others?" he asks.

"Say I didn't feel well. I'd had one too many. Whatever, I don't care."

He reaches out his hands to clasp mine. I look down, fearing my paper-thin mask is about to crack.

"I'll see you Monday," he says, squeezing my hand.

I pull away, screaming inside as he slips through my fingers.

Darkness just seems inevitable at times.  
Swallowing the last of your hopes and energies, taking it all for itself.  
Tonight, it is one of those times.  
I had no escape now, so I stopped and clinged to the memories of all my past and then hugged the sudden darkness all around me…*

_The broken locks were a warning  
you got inside my head  
I tried my best to be guarded,  
I'm an open book instead  
I still see your reflection  
inside of my eyes  
That are looking for a purpose,  
they're still looking for life_

_I'm falling apart,  
I'm barely breathing  
with a broken heart  
that's still beating  
In the pain  
there is healing  
In your name  
I find meaning  
So I'm holdin' on,  
I'm holdin' on,  
I'm holdin' on  
I'm barely holdin' on to you_

_I'm hangin' on another day  
Just to see what you will throw my way  
And I'm hanging  
on to the words you say  
You said that I will,  
I'll be ok_

_The broken lights on the freeway  
left me here alone  
I may have lost my way now,  
haven't forgotten my way home_

_I'm falling apart,  
I'm barely breathing  
with a broken heart  
that's still beating  
In the pain  
there is healing  
In your name  
I find meaning  
So I'm holdin' on,  
I'm holdin' on,  
I'm holdin' on  
I'm barely holdin' on to you.._

**A/N SOOOO WHATD'YA THINK!??? DID I MEET YOUR EXPECTATIONS!!?? I don't know so REVIEW!! pleaseeeeeee?? pretty please? With vanilla ice cream on top? YAY! Favourite part/line, insults towards Tanya equal to a happy writer heh heh xDD Naah just kidding. I hoped you liked it.:D:D:D Thsi was the longest chapter so I'm kinda proud of myself ^^**

**Hope to upadte as soon as possibleeee!**

**-_Angel on Air_**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Hello guys!!missed me? Hehehe, I know you did, don't liee...xD Sorry, I'm just really random. :S Thank you to all the people who reviewed last chapter telling me ow much you hate the happy couple, you rock guys! :D:D:D Ummm...not much for me to say, there's only a couple of chapters before we start with the present thing. Bella is going to face another problem in the chapters that come. I know, I'm it's what this story has reduced me to. :'( Anyway................... LET's GET READING!**

Chapter 11: Who wants to live forever?

_Theres no time for us__  
__Theres no place for us__  
__What is this thing that builds our dreams yet slips away__  
__From us_

_Who wants to live forever_

_Who wants to live forever....?_

_Theres no chance for us__  
__Its all decided for us__  
__This world has only one sweet moment set aside for us_

_Who wants to live forever__  
__Who wants to live forever?_

_Who dares to love forever?__  
__When love must die_

_But touch my tears with your lips__  
__Touch my world with your fingertips__  
__And we can have forever__  
__And we can love forever__  
__Forever is our today__  
__Who wants to live forever__  
__Who wants to live forever?__  
__Forever is our today.._

BPOV  
Friday 13th June,2001

"So, have you set a date for the wedding yet, Edward?" asks Karen. The word slaps me around the face, leaving me red-cheeked. It's not her fault. She has no idea. We are sitting in the pub, the way work colleagues do on Friday lunchtime, making small talk as we eat our jacket potatoes. And it is a perfectly reasonable question to ask, given that he got engaged six days ago. It is just that for me, it is still too soon. The cut too fresh. The pain too intense. The wound gaping open, unable to heal when I have to see him, hear him, smell him, feel his presence and taste him in the air I breathe every day.  
Edward looks at me then away again quickly. The others are waiting.

"Yeah, we have." He says, putting another forkful into his mouth as if he wants to end the conversation there.

"Go on, then" says Karen, "When's the nig day?"

I have to wait until he finishes chewing and swallows. Whatever he is going to say, I don't want to hear it. But I have no choice.

"July the nineteenth." He says.

"What, next year?" asks Karen.

"No," he says, picking up his bottle of Becks, "Next month"

It hits me like a punch in the stomach. Below the belt. I am winded for a second, reeling on the canvas, unsure if I will be able to get up again. I thought I would at least have some time to get my head round the idea. Or maybe even try to talk him out of it. Persuade him that he's chosen the wrong woman. But no. In five weeks' time they will be married. It is all too soon. Too much. Too final. The hammering inside my chest starts again. I look at Edward for an explanation but he is staring intently at his beer mat.

"Bloody hell, that's a bit quick, isn't it?" says Karen, "Are you sure there's nothing else you want to tell us?"

"Eh, yeah. It's not one of those shot-gun weddings, is it?" asks Dave.

"No," snaps Edward. Clearly he wants to leave it at that. But Karen isn't about to let it drop. We don't call her the Rottweiler for nothing.

"So, what's the big rush then?" she says.

Edward sighs. "Tanya rang St Andrew's church and they'd just had a cancellation. We were lucky enough to be offered it so we figured we may as well go for it. No point in hanging around."

He looks up and glances sideways at me. I keep my eyes fixed firmly o the table. Their luck, someone else's misfortune. Tanya must be delighted, whizzing him p the aisle before he's even had a chance to catch his breath from the proposal, let alone get cold feet about the wedding.

I push my barely touched jacket potato away. My insides are too contorted to even contemplate allowing food down. I down the rest of my vodka and orange in one. I wish Angela was here, she would be able to stop this, manage to change the subject. Karen and Dave, however, have no such inclination.

"So how are you going to get everything organized in time?" asks Karen, "Aren't all the reception venues booked up?"

"We're having a marquee in Tanya's parents' garden," says Edward.  
"Is it going to be a big do then?" asks Dave, "One of those top hat and tails job?"

"Probably." He says, "You'll have to ask Tanya for the details. She's handling all the arrangements."

"That's not very gallant of you," says Karen, "Letting her do all the work."

Edward shrugs, still avoiding eye contact with me. "She enjoys it. Besides, I'll only get in the way."

"Trouble is," says Dave, "You could turn up on the day and find she's had the whole church decked out in pink ribbons and ordered some poncey horse and carriage lark to take you to the reception."

"Whatever, it's up to her," he says, "It's her big day."

My hand is squeezing my empty glass so hard I fear it could shatter at any moment. I want to shout at the top of my voice, the way you do when you're a kid and you're trying to drown out something you don't want to hear.

"And you don't mind looking like a prat?" asks Dave.

"You'd be disappointed if I didn't."

"I can't wait to see you in a penguin suit." Says Dave.

"You'd better give me a break then. Otherwise I might not invite you," he says it jokingly but I detect a serious undertone. I hadn't even thought of that. We are all going to be invited to his wedding. Me included. I am going to be expected to stand there and watch him pledge himself to another woman for life. To remain silent when the vicar asks people to speak now or for ever hold their peace. To raise my glass and toast their future happiness. I won't go, of course. It would be like volunteering for an afternoon in a torture chamber. Though I can't imagine sitting at home picturing it will be much better.

"What date did you say it was again?" asks Dave.

"July 19th," mumbles Edward as he finishes the last mouthful and puts his knife and fork down.

"Eh, that's the same date as Rugby Carnival," says Dave, "You'll be able to hitch a lift to and from the church on one of the carnival floats. Save her old man a few bob or two."

Edward manages a strained smile.

"Still don't know why you're bothering," says Karen, who has just moved in with her boyfriend, "It's a damn sight cheaper to live in sin."

Edward is starting to look rattled.

"Anyway, we'd better be getting back," he says, putting his unfinished bottle of Becks down on the table and standing up. Karen and Dave are visibly taken aback. Usually Edward is the one advocating an extended lunch hour. And he always finishes his drinks. I stand up and follow Edward to the door, relieved for the chance to escape.  
"Sorry about that, couldn't shut them up. Are you okay?" asks Edward as soon as we get outside.

I nod. Unable to manage any words. This is only the beginning. It will get worse as the day draws nearer. Until the point where it becomes unbearable. When I shall need something to numb the pain. We walk back to work side by side, Karen and Dave a few steps behind. Neither of us say a word. We don't even look at each other. I keep my eyes firmly on the pavement. But all I see are the images of him and Tanya in their wedding outfits swirling around my head.

We get back to the newsroom at the same time as Angela.

"Have a good lunch?" she asks.

Edward shrugs. I look down at my feet.

"You'd better buy a hat, Angela," Karen says, "Edward's getting married in five weeks."

Angela raises her eyebrows, glances at me then back to Edward, "Well, you don't hang about, do you?"

"No," says Edward, "And before you ask, no, she isn't."

He sits down at his desk and starts typing. Angela turns to look at me for an explanation.

"Not now," I say.

An uneasy atmosphere descends on the newsroom. I sit in the gloom for half an hour or so before deciding to escape up to photographic with a picture order. Ted is busy scribbling on a piece of paper. He looks up and fires a question at me.

"How long do you give it?"

"What?"

"Edward's marriage. I've started a book."

"That's nice of you."

"Karen's gone for three years. I think she's being optimistic. Bill's gone for one year and Dave reckons they won't even make it to the altar."

I slap the photo order down on the desk.

"So what shall I put you down for?" he says.

"You can say I'm a conscious objector."

"Ooohh, get you. It's only a bit of fun,"

"I don't find it amusing,"

I walk away, my own words bouncing off the walls and coming back to me, the laughter echoing. I have no place on this moral high ground. I am a fallen woman.

Back at the desk I wonder who will win. Dave's money is essentially on me, although he doesn't realise it. He has backed a horse which is no longer running, I am buoyed by the knowledge that no one seems to think it will last the distance. I shouldn't be, I know. But I am.

I do not look at Edward for the rest of the afternoon, I find it too painful. I used to hate having my back to him. Now I'm glad of it. Not that I can forget he is there. Because when you block out one sense the others simply become more aware.

It is gone four o' clock when Lauren on reception buzzes up to say there is a Mrs. Saunders in the front office to see me. The name doesn't mean anything at first. It is only when I see the gaunt figure standing in the corner that I realise who she is. Deborah's mother. I haven't seen her since I visited their house. But I know from Deborah that she was pleased with the article. Just disappointed, as I was, by the lack of response from the health authority.

She turns to look at me. Her body is hunched, her hands anxiously clasp a shopping bag, and the worry lines on her face are deeper still. But it is her eyes that tell me something has happened. Dull and lifeless and surrounded by layers of puffy red skin.

"Hello," I say as I approach her, "Is everything all right?"

She shakes her head, closing her eyes for a second before dragging her lids open.

"I am afraid Deborah passed away on Tuesday night."

I stand there staring, open-mouthed, wanting her to take the words back. Desperate for it not to be true. Although I know from the moist coating in her eyes that it is.

"I'm so sorry. I only spoke to her a few weeks ago. I didn't know she was so ill. "

"She went downhill very quickly this time. Says Mrs. Saunders. "They admitted her to hospital at the weekend but it was too late. She had a lung infection and a blood infection. The doctors said that she was too weak to fight them. Less than four and a half stone, she was at the end."

She gets a tissue from her handbag and dabs at her eyes.

"I really am sorry," I say again, unable to find the words I need, "Do you want to come through and sit down? Can I get you a cup of tea?"

"No, thanks. I just wanted to let you know. And to ask if you could put this on the paper."

She reaches in her handbag again and produces a crumpled piece of paper which she hands to me with shaky hands. It is a death notice, complete with a short poem. I have read dozens like this, unfortunately usually bad enough to make me cringe. But this one is beautiful. This one leaves me swallowing hard.

"Deborah wrote it," says Mrs. Saunders. "I think she knew, you know. That there was no way back this time."

I nod slowly.

"Of course we'll use it," I say, "We'll do a story as well, more of a tribute to her really, if that's okay with you."

"Yes" she says, having taken a moment to think about it. "Yes, I'd like that. How much do I owe you for the notice?"

"Nothing," I say, "It's the least we can do. She was very special, your Deborah."

"Thank you," she says, "At least she's at peace now. In a strange way it's almost a relief. I couldn't bear to see her suffer any more." She starts to walk away but turns back before she gets to the door.

"If you use a photo with the story," she says, "can you use the one of her when she was younger, before it all started? It's how I want people to remember her."

"Of course," I say. "And if there's anything else we can do…"

She nods before turning and walking out the door.

I am left standing there, holding the death notice in my shaking hand. I have broken the golden rule of journalism. I have got involved. I thought I was becoming hardened to it, the way Edward said you do. I have covered two murder cases, written stories about people who have died in accidents or through illness, and have always managed to remain detached. But this is different. Someone I have interviewed has died. Someone who was young and beautiful. Someone I was going to phone next week to see how she was.

"Poor woman," says Lauren, who has a habit of overhearing conversations. "I remember that article you did on her daughter. Such a shame about these silly girls. I don't know why they can't just eat something."

I resist the urge to strangle her. And I am not in the right frame of mind to try to explain. I simply shake my head and walk back upstairs to the newsroom, biting my trembling lip. I should tell Edward. The story will make at least a page three lead to us next week. But I know that if I so much as look at him I will burst into tears. And I do not want that. Not in front of the others. I sit down at my desk and stare at a blank screen, unable to start an intro I do not want to write. After fifteen minutes I give up and start gathering my things together.

"What's this, knocking off early?" says Angela, looking up. As soon as she sees my face her expression and tone change. "Bella? Are you all right?"

I shake my head and walk over to her, so that the others don't hear.

"Not really. Deborah Saunders, the anorexic woman, died on Tuesday. Her mother's just been in."

"Oh, Bella" Angela's face crumples in sympathy.

"I'm not going to be much use here so I may as well go home. Tell Edward I'm not feeling well. I'll make up the hours in the morning."

I slip out without the others noticing and tread quietly down the back stairs. It is only when I reach the sanctuary of my car that I allow the tears to fall.

*********

I haven't bothered cooking at home since Edward got engaged. It is a lot of effort to go to just scrape most of the food into the bin an hour later. I have laid the table every night as if I was having a meal. Not that you need a knife and a fork for vodka and orange, but it has kept some sense of normality. Tonight, however, it feels wrong not to be eating. Tonight I feel I should make an effort – for Deborah's sake.

I do a quick stir-fry with some bits I have in the fridge and a packet of noodles and a jar of sauce from the cupboard. Not exactly cordon bleu but it is better than nothing. I manage to eat about a third of it before my stomach reminds me that it is not used to this and clenches and churns so much tat I decide to leave the rest. My body is still in mourning for Edward. And I feel bad about that because I should be mourning for Deborah now. Deborah, who is really dead, not Edward who is still here but has simply chosen to be with someone else. I am selfish as well as bad. The guilt compounds the guilt. I pour myself another vodka. I don't bother to put any orange juice in it this time. When I have finished it I pour another. I am about to down that as well when the door-bell rings. I am not expecting anyone. It will probably be someone trying to sell me something I don't want or telling me Jesus is my saviour. I decide to go anyway, suspecting it will make me feel better to slam the door in someone's face. I pad down the stairs in my bare feet and open the door. It is Edward. His body silhouetted against the late evening sunshine. His eyes mournfully dark and open so wide I fear I shall fall into them.

My stomach lurches violently as the roller coaster starts up again, propelling me to the first peak and leaving me hanging there, teetering on the edge, unsure whether I am going all the way to the top or am about to plummet back down to the depths again.

I do not say anything. I shield my eyes from the sun, trying not to squint as I wait for him to speak.

"Angela told me," he says, "about the anorexic woman. I wanted to make sure you were all right."

I want to collapse sobbing into his arms. Ask him to hold me, stroke my hair, make everything okay again. But I am not allowed to do that any more. We are over. There is an invisible barrier between us, which I must not penetrate.

"I'm OK, thanks." I say.

"You don't have to pretend, Bella. Not with me."

He is pushing against the barrier; if I give it a shove from my side it could topple. But I am scared of what I might do if it falls.

"It came as a shock, that's all. Normally I'd have been okay but it's been tough…well, you know…" My voice tails off as I decide to stop talking before it cracks completely. I blink back the tears and look down, hoping Edward will think it's the sun in my eyes.

"Can I come in?" he says.

I look up at him. Not daring to believe there is anything more than friendly concern but feeling the ground shifting, the awkwardness starting to recede. I nod, still biting my bottom lip, and turn to walk up the stairs. I hear Edward shut the door behind him and follow me, his footsteps familiar, the situation foreign. I lead him through to the main room. We have been here together so many times. But this evening I am unsure of what to do or say. Because it is different; everything has changed. Even offering him a coffee could be wrongly construed. I turn to face him. His eyes are reaching out to me. It is impossible – simply looking at him kills me inside. My body is screaming for him. He is the person I am closest to in the world. But I am only allowed to look, not touch. I can't bear it longer. The bottom lip goes.

"Come here," Edward says. I take a step towards him, then another. Before I know it my head is buried against him, his arms close around me. I shut my eyes and drink it in. The feeling of safety, of belonging, of being home. It is a long time before the tears ease. Before I am able to speak.

"It's all so sad. I don't think she wanted to die. I think it just got out of control, so she couldn't stop it."

Edward nods and strokes my hair. Like I wanted him to do. Like I didn't think he could do any more. I'm not sure of what it's happening. Or how long it will last. All I know is that I need him now, more than ever.

"The funeral's next Wednesday afternoon," I say, wiping my eyes. "I'd like to go, if that's okay with you."

"Of course it is," he says, still stroking my hair. "What did I tell you about getting involved?"

"I know, I know. You must think I'm so pathetic. Maybe I need to toughen up a bit."  
He shakes his head. "I like the fact that you care. That you give a toss. It's one of the many things I love about you."

He stops short, as if realising he is not supposed to say things like that anymore. I want to ask what the other things are. To have him put them in writing if necessary. Anything to help me remember that it wasn't some cheap fling. That he had real feelings for me. When I am sitting here alone in my flat at nights. And he is at home with his wife. I start crying again. Though these tears are for my loss. For Edward. He holds me tighter still. As if trying to squeeze the hurt out of me. When I eventually look up he's gazing fondly at me.

"What?" I say.

"You're the only woman I've ever known who still manages to look beautiful when she cries," he says.

I blink in appreciation. He is too polite to say what the others look like. An image of Tanya resembling a bulldog chewing a wasp as she bawls her eyes out comes into my mind. I chase it away. I am being unkind. I still don't understand, though. How can he say that to me when he is marrying her in five weeks' time. I don't want to spoil the moment but I have to know.

"I didn't think it would be so soon," I say, "The wedding."  
Edward pulls away a little, as if startled into reality. Remembering that he shouldn't be here, holding me. That it is not me he is marrying.

"I thought it would be for the best," he says with a shrug.

"For who?" I say.

He lets go of me and walks to the window, running his fingers through his hair.

"For all of us," he says, "I didn't see the point of dragging things out once the decision had been made. At least this way it will be done and dusted and we'll all have the chance to move on"

I stand there shaking my head. Edward is staring out of the window. Unable to look me in the eye.

"And that's what you want, is it?" I ask, "To move on?"

He hesitates before answering.

"I don't know what I want. All I know is that I've made a mess of everything. And hurt you in the process, which is the one thing I never wanted to do."

He holds his head in his hands, covering his eyes, stopping me from seeing his pain. It is my turn to do the comforting. I reach out for his hand and lead him over towards the bed. He looks at me, his eyebrows raised questioningly, about to tell me to stop.

"It's OK;" I say, "I just want to hold you. No funny business."

I sit down on the floor with my legs outstretched and my back propped up against the bed. He hesitates before lying down next to me, resting his head on my lap. I brush a few strands of hair back from his face, my fingertips skimming softly across his forehead. Touching skin again, if only for a precious seconds. Edward reaches up a hand to lightly cup my face. I kiss his pal. The tiniest kiss imaginable. He closes his eyes. He is hurting every bit as much as me. I know I shouldn't say it but I have to try. And this could be my only chance.

"You can't go into a marriage feeling like this, Edward. It's not fair on either of you."

He takes his hand away from my face and opens his eyes.

"And would it be fair to Tanya to call it off? She cried at the end of the party, you know. Cried all the way home in the taxi. Said I'd made her so happy by saying yes. And I sat there without saying a word, thinking about how I've cheated on her. About what a bastard I've been."

I stop stroking his forehead. I don't want to know this. He has told me too much. I don't want to hear about her tears. I want to tell him about mine. All the tears I have cried over the past months when he has gone home to her, leaving me with just the smell of him lingering on my fingers. The times I have lain awake at night imagining them together, the times I have wished that just for once I could wake up with him next to me in the morning. But I know that if I say it will sound as if I am bitter and twisted. And I don't want to come over like that. Even if I am.

"You don't have to call the whole thing off. Just tell her you want to put it back until next year. Give yourself a chance to think things properly."  
He sighs and shakes his head. "All that would is prolong the agony for you. I'm not going to change my mind, Bella. I made her a promise, in front of all my friends and family. She's wearing my ring on her finger. I'm not going to back down now. It wouldn't be right."

It is my turn to shut my eyes. He reaches up and strokes my face again.

"Believe me, you'll be better off without me. And before you know it some lucky bastard will come along and sweep you up your feet. I only hope he'll treat you better than I have."

I open my eyes, letting a solitary tear out as I do so.  
"I don't want anyone else." I say, "I only want you. Always. Forever.

Edward reaches up and pulls my head down to him. We stay like that for a long time. Our foreheads touching, feeling each others' breath warm on our face. Both of us knowing this is the last time we will do this. It is our long goodbye.

It is getting dark outside by the time he lets go of me, and stretches out his creaking limbs.

"I've got to go now," he whispers. He clambers stiffly up to his feet and offers a hand to help me up. I take it, wanting to feel his touch one last time. As he walks towards the door he glances at the table, where the remains of my stir-fry and my untouched glass of vodka are standing. I don't think he notices them when he first came in.

"Are you going to be okay?" he says.

"I guess so."

"I'll see you on Monday,"

"Yeah," I nod my head. The words I want to say stuck in my throat. I watch him walk out the room; hear him close the front door, quietly. As if he doesn't want to disturb me in my grief. And I am grieving. For him as well as Deborah. The tears carve deep chasms in my cheeks. I pick up the glass from the table and drink it straight down. Stopping to refill it before settling back on to the carpet in exactly the same spot. Only this time it is uncomfortable, this time I feel the wiry fibres digging into the soft flesh of my thighs through my skirt. This time there is no one here to take the pain away.  
He will be going home to her now feeling unburdened. Free from the pressure which has blighted his life these past few months. I hear my mother saying 'I told you so'. Maybe I shouldn't have played with fire in the first place.  
Maybe I shouldn't even be let near matches.  
I reach for my glass. The alcohol slips easily down my throat, soothing everything it comes into contact with. It is my medicine. It will not make me better but it will dull the pain.

_Who lives forever anyway..._

**A/N: So what d'ya think?? love it? hate it? You completely _LOATHE _it? Whatever your opinion is, I want to know!! Als sorry for not replying to some of the reviews, my internet suddenly went all funny on me for no aparent reason. Still, I hope you all understand and continue to review.**

**HOPE TO UPDATE SOON!**

**-_Angel on Air_**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N Guess who's back..back again..shady's back...tell a friend! LOL sorry I just really like the song :D Anyway, I know this chapter is a lot shorter but it will be like part 1 of a whole chaptewr, catch my drift? LET'S GET READING!!**

Chapter 12: Like a knife,,part 1

BPOV

Saturday 19th July, 2001

I do not wake up. I simply drift from not sleeping to being awake. I have nothing to get up for today. And I am feeling sick already. Pre-wedding nerves. That is what it is. I wonder if the bride-to-be is suffering as well. As for the groom, I do not know what I wish for him. The pain receptors in my head go into overdrive if I much as picture his face. I guess I hope he is thinking of me, maybe even having second thoughts. Not that they will make any difference. He has made his choice. It is over. For him, at least.

The invite is still on the table where I left it last night. I tell myself that it is helping me confront the truth, a kind of self-help therapy to kick-start the healing process. Though in reality there is no possibility of healing when the wound reopens every time I see him. I could still go, I know that. I bought an outfit just in case. A black dress with white polka dots and a huge black wide-brimmed hat. It is a bit much for a wedding, black. The polka dots are my concession to convention. They can appear jolly, even if I'm not. Edward will be wearing a charcoal gray morning suit. Or a mourning suit how I prefer to think of it. I don't know what she will be wearing. White, I suppose. Probably sleek and simple. Edward let slip to Angela a few weeks ago that she still had a couple of pounds to lose to fit into her gown. I could help her out there, pass on some dieting tips. The vomiting one in particular.

I turn over in bed, still unwilling to get up. I can see my wedding hat now on top of the wardrobe. It was bought with the intention of giving me somewhere to hide, so I could be there without actually having to watch. But I couldn't anything to block out the sound. Sometimes when it is very quiet at nights, I can hear them saying their vows. I scream to try to drown it out but they simply speak louder. I wonder if they will both get their words right. I have this dream, more of a fantasy really, where he says my name instead of hers and she calls the whole thing off in a fit of pique.

But the reality is, that it is not going to happen. Edward is marrying Tanya today. I am not going because I cannot bear it. There is no place left to hide. The only option now is to run.

I have applied for a job at the _Scarborough Evening News_. I've got no idea if I'll get it. Or even whether I'll go if I do. All I know is that I need an escape route. The prospect of sitting at work welcoming Edward back from three-week honeymoon in the Caribbean is looming ominously closer. He wants us to be friends. But I am not sure the wound will ever heal while I still breathe the same air as him.

I look at the clock. Just gone nine. Three hours to go. Tanya will probably be having a bath, pampering herself in readiness for her big day. She is staying at her parent's house. It is bad luck to see the groom on the morning of the wedding. It is also bad luck for the groom to have been having an affair a couple of months before the wedding. But she doesn't know that. And what she doesn't know won't hurt her. I could spoil it all and go round and tell her. I know where she lives. But I am not that low. Not quite.

I toss back the duvet and swing my legs out of bed. My body follows reluctantly, I pad bare-foot to the bathroom, all cheery yellow and green. I sit and pee but halfway through I realise that I am going to throw up. I lean over towards the bath and retch into it. The vomit spatters loudly on the plastic. It is mostly liquid, vodka I suspect. I am surprised to see some remants of food there. I can't remember the last time I managed a proper meal. I sit on the loo, my legs feeling too weak to support me. My body can't stomach what is happening. That much is clear. I wonder how long it will go on punishing me like this. Eventually I summon the strength to wipe myself. As I fumble for the loo roll the box of Tampax topples from the top of the cistern. I stoop to pick them up, realising that I still haven't come on. It will be the stress. It made me miss my period entirely last month. I didn't think that could happen when you're on the pill. My body is pushing the boundaries of science and nature. But that is stupid. Not even my body is capable of that.

With a rising feeling of unease I stagger to the bathroom cabinet and take out the box containing my pills. I pull the leaflet out. I haven't read it for years; you don't bother after the first couple of months. I skip the part I'm barely starting to remember. The warning bit which tells you the circumstances when the pill may not work properly – such as when you have been sick - and advises you to use alternative forms of contraception during those times.

I spin round and survey the contents of the bath again. The unease is turning to panic now, my brain trying to make sense of it all. I turn the shower attachment on, swishing the vomit down the plughole. It is not as easy as that, though. The real evidence is inside me. Now the thought is in my head I can't shake it. I am gripped by a sudden need to know.

**A/NSo this was 'Like a Knife' by Lifehouse, heh heh. I hoped you all liked it :D Hope to update part 2 soooooon!**

**_-Angel on Air_**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N I LOVE YOU GUYS!! I got 16 reviews for last chapter, the most I've had since I started this story :D:D I was like OMFG,yayyy!! Well, since you all liked last chapter, here is part two. I meant to update yesterday night, but I went to a party and came this morning hehehe. Anyway, here is part two of 'Like a knife'! Which is by Secondhand Serenade, not Lifehouse like I said last chapter. Sorry about that, I got them confused for a yeah...LETS GET READING! **

Chapter 13: Like a knife (2)

BPOV  
Saturday 19th July, 2001

_It is not as easy as that, though. The real evidence is inside me. Now the thought is in my head I can't shake it out. I am gripped by a sudden need to know.*_

I get dressed quickly, not bothering to shower. I make do with washing my face and swilling my mouth out until I get rid of the taste. I take the key off the hook, pick up my purse and pull my jacket. I switch to automatic pilot for the walk to the chemist's. All sorts of thoughts are going through my head. Above all I feel stupid. Fifteen-year-old-girl-stupid for not even thinking of it before. The chemist is in the process of opening up as I get there. I walk past, pretending I have other things to do, places to go. A few minutes later I turn and walk back again. Inside it is cool and feels suitable clinical.

I find the pregnancy testing kits in the far corner. They are sold in packs of two. I wonder if this is a cynical marketing ploy to rip off the desperate or whether the manufacturers think that if you got yourself into this mess once you will probably do so again. I pick up a box that promises 99% accurate results in two minutes. I consider whether to buy something else to disguise my purchase but decide I would be fooling no one. The chemist smiles politely at me as he takes my money and wraps the box discreetly in a paper bag. Presumably he is past judging people. I am grateful.

I walk home twice as quickly, my legs seemingly anxious to know even if my head is not so sure. I dash upstairs straight into the bathroom, which still smells of sick. I open a window, tear open the box and fumble with the cellophane wrapper. I scan the instructions for anything that looks important, take the stick from out of the case and hold it under me. I am shaking as I start to pee; more urine seems to go on my hand than on the stick. When I have finished I put it back in its case, deciding I will wait two minutes before looking rather than watch second by second.

I sit in the lavatory tapping my finger on my legs as I count in my head. I don't want to be pregnant. Pregnant with a baby whose father is about to marry someone else. I used to read about people like that in women's magazines. Think how stupid they were. And now it could be me. I would have to lie about who the father was, make up some story about a drunken one-night stand to tell them at work. Or else get rid of it. Like Edward got rid of me.  
The time is up. I open the case. Two thick blue lines stare back at me. One in each window. I am pregnant. I start to cry. Unable to believe what is happening to me, on this of all days. I sit staring at the blue lines through my tears, watching them blur into one then expand into a line of a dozen or so. Eventually I put the stick back in the case and throw it in the pedal bin. Out of sight, out of mind. If only.

I start cleaning the bathroom. Frantically, desperately, manically. I scrub at the bath first, rubbing at the plastic until I fear I will rub it away. I can see my face now, not that I want to, but I can. The toilet cleaner has dust on it, that is how little I use it. I squirt it violently round the rim, wanting to flush everything away. The smell is overwhelming, making me feel sick again. I retch into the toilet bowl. My sparkling clean toilet bowl. Covering it with whatever combination of liquid, bile and alcohol left in my stomach. The alcohol, I had forgotten the alcohol. This thing inside me has been growing in it. Forty percent proof. It is probably poisoned, deformed beyond all recognition.

I tell myself the test result must be wrong. That mine was the one per cent inaccurate test. Someone's has to be. I swish my mouth and go into the kitchen and drink of water straight down. I pace around the flat for a bit, giving it time to work, trying to stop myself from shaking.

When I can wait no longer I go back to the bathroom and take out the second stick from the box on the floor. I repeat the test, sure it will be different this time, brazenly daring the blue line to appear before me as I watch. When it does I throw it in the bin with the other one and slide off the toilet into a quivering heap on the floor. I am crying again now, safe in the knowledge that I have messed up big time. There is no mistake. This is my penance, sent by whoever it is that stands in judgement, who has watched my selfish behaviour and felt repulsed by it.

Eventually, I haul myself up off the floor, stagger into the main room and collapse on my bed in a giddy mixture of nausea, hysteria and panic. The invite is still on the table, the gold embossed lettering glinting in the sunshine. Mr and Mrs Jenkinson request the pleasure of my company at the wedding of their daughter Tanya Jane to Mr. Edward Anthony Masen Cullen. It is taunting me from across the room. I hear the congregation laughing at me as hey wait for the main event. I am the warm-up act, the funny girl who screwed up. Would it have made any difference to Edward if he'd known? Probably he'd have thought it was a ploy, a trap to snare him. That is what the other woman does, isn't it? Get pregnant 'by accident' in a desperate bid to win her man. He might not have though. He might have seen I was mortified by this. That genuine mistakes do happen.

I glance at the clock. Eleven-thirty. He should be on his way to church by now. Perhaps he is there already. Waiting nervously inside. Realising that this is it, there is no going back now. It is too late.

Or is it? Maybe there is still time. Maybe if I told him it would prompt him a last-minute change of heart. Make him realise he is doing the wrong thing, marrying the wrong woman. He has the right to know. It is his. This baby growing inside me.

I gather myself up off the bed, gripped by a desire for a dramatic final scene instead of seeing things ebb away privately, quietly, without a struggle. I run to the bathroom and splash cold water over my tear-stained face, the shock hitting my skin first then seeping through beneath, jolting my body into action. I will wear my wedding outfit. I am a guest, after all. Even if I am out to spoil the party. I dash back into the room, take my top off and grab my dress from the wardrobe, pulling it over my head as I wriggle out of my jeans, letting it slither down, finding its way over the curves, settling into place. I slip on my black slingbacks, grab my hat from the top of the wardrobe, pick up my handbag and clatter downstairs.

My hand is shaking so much I struggle to open the car door. I throw my hat on the passenger seat, jump inside and start the engine, pulling the seat belt on as I drive off. My heart sinks as I see traffic crawling along the main road into town. I wind down the window; the heat is stifling. I tap my fingers on the steering wheel, the tapping getting louder as the minutes tick by. I decide to take a different route and turn left, accelerating between the speed humps and hitting each one hard. I have written stories about people who do this, interviewed the residents who complained, the same ones who will be twitching behind the curtains now, threatening to ring that woman in the newspaper again. I turn left and right and right again, only to find myself staring at a queue of cars in front, people who all had the same idea as me and are now wishing they hadn't bothered. I notice there are traffic cones along the side of the main road and barriers further towards the town centre. Families are milling around, small children with looks of anticipation on their faces. The carnival. Despite everything I have written about it, I have forgotten the bloody carnival.

It all comes back now. The town centre is going to be closed to traffic from midday. I am not going to make it. I am going to be sitting in the car, pregnant, watching the carnival procession go by when Edward marries someone else. I pull out of the queue of traffic, perform an unconventional three-point turn and park on the other side of the road. I am on double yellows, I will get a ticket but I don't care. I have more important things to worry about. I put my hat on, lock the door and start to run, aware that people are watching me. I weave in and out of the gathering crowd. At first I say 'excuse me', after a while I don't bother. I can hear the tutting and complaining as I push past, children staring, mothers explaining that the woman is in a hurry and that is why she is being rude. I raise my wrist to look at the watch, only to realise that I didn't put it on. The policeman up ahead is turning the traffic away now, so I guess it must be gone twelve. I still have more than a mile to go. It is not easy to run in my slingbacks. I wish I'd put trainers; it wouldn't have mattered. It is getting there which is important. I stumble over a cracked paving stone and come crashing to the floor. The pain sears through me, bringing tears to my eyes. A small, elderly woman asks if I'm okay.

"Yes," I say, "fine thanks,"

I am used to telling lies by now. I am very good at it. A man hands me my hat which is slightly crumpled but otherwise unscathed. I pick myself up; my left knee is bleeding. I reach down and dab at it with my hand, brushing dirt into it in the process. A St John Ambulance woman is walking towards me. Fucking busybody Elastoplast brigade. I have no time for tea or sympathy, for antiseptic or kissing it better. I put my hat back on and start off again towards the town centre, walking at first until I feel steady enough to run again. My eyes are still watering. That is how I explain the rivulets of hot, salty liquid running down my cheeks. I run under the railway bridge, past the park gates, familiar places passing by in a blur. I give up pushing through the people on the pavement, scramble through a gap in the barriers and take to running in the gutter. The best place for me.

"I love you," I whisper in gasping breaths, "I love you, I love you."

The crowd is denser now. I am joined in the gutter by a man dressed in a lion suit brandishing a collecting bucket.

"Have you lost your float, love?" he says as I push past. I want to tell him to fuck off but I don't have the breath left. Someone throws twenty pence at the lion's bucket; it misses and hits me on the arm. The first floats are approaching from behind. I can hear the soft growl of a lorry engine and the distant beat of a drum. I squeeze through a gap in the barriers back into the crowd, ready to cut down the next corner, away from the procession route towards the church.

"I love you. I love you."

I am wheezing now. I have no idea how I am managing to keep my legs moving. I round the corner, and can see St Andrew's church, set back in a shady recess behind the cast-iron railings. I look up at the church clock, twelve forty. I want to climb up and haul the hands back to twelve but I can't. The energy has sapped from my body. I slow to a trot, sure I am too late but drawn to go closer. Perhaps he was late as usual, or she was. Caught up in the traffic. Perhaps there is still a chance.

The wedding car is outside, a silver Rolls-Royce with a white ribbon, the chauffeur mopping his brow with a handkerchief. I walk past him, up to the railings. The front doors are open. I think I can hear music drifting across from inside but it hard to tell with all the noise from the carnival behind.

"I love you, I love you;"  
I stand and brace myself for what I am about to do. There is nothing for it but to go on in, to see where they are in the ceremony, to find out if it is legal yet. To do what I have to do.

As I start down the path I see a vision in white drifting towards me from the darkness inside. I dart back out of sight behind the railings as the happy couple emerge on the church steps to a flurry of activity from the photographer. She is radiant, her hair piled elegantly on top of her head, the smile on her face tearing me in two. Hail the victor, who won without even knowing she was in a battle. Beside her Edward is smiling too. Beaming, in fact. Like he was genuinely happy and I have been kidding myself all this time to think he loved me more than her. The shutter clicks. Their happiness captured forever in film. He is hers now. My gaze drifts down to his left hand. The ring is in place: the circle is complete, unbreakable.

Unlike me.

"I hate you," I whisper under my breath, "I hate you."

**Tell me what you think please!! Whether you like it or hate you hate it,, review!! If you're a writer as well, you know how good it feels to know your readers' opinions. And if you're readers, then just know it's wonderful to get reviews. it makes it worthwhile, you know, knowing all your opinions. If you think something after reading this chapter, please please please let me know. (:**

**Hope to update next chapter soon!**

**_-Angel on Air_**


	14. Chapter 14

**AN:Hiyaa guys!! Have I ever told you that I love you(8)? xd Sorry sorry, I couldn't resist it hehehe. I got 20 reviews for last chapter, WOOP WOOP :D Lemme tell you this is IMPORTANT:**

**I love to know what you think about the story and get to find out about your ideas,and I will put some of them in, but the 'backbone' as you could call it, isn't going to change. I'm not changing the plot.**

**Also, I know most of you will like to kill me after you read what happens in this chapter, but its the way it ismeant to go, okay?? It was a really difficult chapter to write. I cried quite a lot after this one, dunno why since I'm the one who decided it to go this way :S Anyway...LETS GET READING!**

Chapter 13: Love for a child

BPOV  
Saturday 19th July, 2001

I pull my hat down over my face and slip into the shadows behind the church railings where they can't see my tears, or hear me choking on their happiness. I can hear them, though. Her laughing, the photographer barking instructions, Edward obliging by giving her a kiss, prompting a cheer from the guests.

My heart is beating double time to the steel drums from the carnival float at the top of the street. A gust of wind blows a handful of confetti over me. It catches in my hair. I try to flick it out but it falls down the back of my dress. Torn fragments of something that was once much bigger, clinging to me, not wanting to let go. I could stay and watch, wave them off in the car, offer my congratulations. But there is only so much a person can take-or fake.

I walk away, past the wedding car, the chauffeur now with his cap on standing to attention, ready to whisk the happy couple on their way. Would it have made a difference if I'd got there on time? If I'd told him? It doesn't matter either way now. He is lost to me.

I arrive back on the main road. The carnival is in full flow. The children from the catholic school are dressed as leprechauns. They are waving and rattling buckets, a huge Irish tricolour draped over the back of the float. Edward suspects the head teacher is a paedophile but what does Edward know? I push my way along the back of the crowd of spectators lining the pavements, hoping Karen and Ted, who drew the short straw of covering the carnival, haven't spotted me making a spectacle of myself. Or slinking away now to lick my wounds. When I get to the car there is a parking ticket on the windscreen. I do not care.

I stop at the off licence on my way home, the sound of the steel band still ringing in my ears. Music, laughter, happy sounds. I have to get rid of them, drown them out. I buy two bottles of Absolut Vodka. It never hurts to have a spare one in. The woman in the serving gives me a look, somewhere between pity and scorn. I realise I must look a state: sweaty body, tear-stained face, bloody knee. I am thankful I did not have time to apply make up. My mascara would have run. I would have looked like one of the clowns from the carnival; people would probably start singing the Smokey Robbinson song. She puts the bottles in a carrier bag and I hobble back to the car.

The flat feels emptier than it has ever done before. The bathroom is still strewn with debris from this morning, the smell of vomit still lingering in the carpet, seeping into the ground between the tiles.

They will probably be on to the speeches by now. I should get a mention really. Somewhere between the bridesmaids and the best man. 'And thanks to Bella, whom I was shagging up to a few weeks ago but who has had the good grace not to show her face today. Or to bother me with the details of her pregnancy,'

Except he wouldn't say that last bit because he doesn't know. And he won't ever know. I'll make sure of that. What would be the point? Why spoil everything when he has managed to extricate himself from such a potentially messy situation without any spillages? Any blood on the carpet. No it is my problem now. I must deal with it on my own. The only way I know how. I take a bottle of vodka from the bag, the sheer weight of it feeling good in my hand. I open it, loving the sound of the seal breaking as the cap tears away from the metal collar on the neck. I do not bother with a glass. I put my mouth to the rim and swig it back, feeling the soothing medicine flow down my throat, entering my bloodstream where it is needed. I have no desire for drugs; for pills, powders and needles. I have alcohol.

"To the bride and groom," I say, holding the bottle aloft, hearing the clink of their champagne glasses, seeing the reflection of their smiling faces in the bottle, smelling their happiness, "Bastard."

For the first time ever I want him to be hurting. Want him to feel some twinge of remorse. I wonder if he has even thought of me today. I suspect he has. But only for a fleeting moment, some brief pause in the celebrations. Only to hope I wouldn't turn up and make it difficult for him. He has no idea of just how close I came to making it enormously difficult. No idea that a part of him is now growing inside me. A part I do not want. If he could have left me a digit, a little finger perhaps, I could have kept it in a bottle of formaldehyde above the fireplace for sentimental reasons. But this, this part of him, is not pure. It has been contaminated by me and turned bad. Like everything I touch.

I toast the happy couple again. And again and again. I do not want to have to think about what they are doing for the rest of the day. What he will say to her in his speech, what song they will have for their first dance, where they will spend their honeymoon night. I want to obliterate everything from now onwards. To erase the future in a way I can't erase the past. Only that will be difficult when the future is growing inside me. Has embedded itself, feeding on me like a leech, sucking me dry. It is a future that scares me rigid. A future I am not strong enough to cope with. Not on my own.

I tip the bottle back and feel my throat as I swallow, counting each glug. I am sitting on the floor, propped up against the bed. Without it I am not sure I would be able to support myself. The vodka is starting to work its magic. I can't even remember what her dress looked like. That was this afternoon. That was a long time ago.

***********

It is dark when I wake, early-hours-of-the-morning dark. I am slumped on the carpet. As I wait for my eyes to adjust I am conscious of a variety of sensations. I have a crick in my neck. I am cold. I have no feeling in my right calf. It is still there because I can reach out and touch it but it is bent under me at an odd angle. My dress is damp, a mixture of sweat from earlier and –judging by the smell- alcohol. I reach out into the darkness, patting a small patch of wetness. I put my hand to my nose and sniff. It is sick. I am surprised it doesn't smell much but then it is mainly liquid. I carry on feeling. Eventually I locate an empty vodka bottle and a few seconds later another. My head is pounding, the steel drums continuing to beat inside my head. I can't work out whether I feel sick or hungry, probably a mixture of both. And I have a cramping pain low down in my belly. Like a period pain but different, sharper somehow.

I try to sit up, everything hurts, the darkness spins. I give myself a few minutes and try again, managing to hoist myself up on to my elbows this time. I stay there for a moment, daring myself to go further, before pushing down with my hands and shifting so that I am propped up against the bed. When I put my hand back down I find another wet patch. At the same time I realise I am desperate for a pee. I feel the seat of my dress: it seems I have wet myself already. I appear to have lost control of my bodily functions. I push myself up using the bed, and the cramping pain causes me to double up. I sit on the edge a moment, waiting for the pain to ease and my head to stop spinning. Neither seems to happen but the urge to pee gets worse. I stand up and stagger towards the bathroom, clawing my way along the way and any furniture I can reach. I can feel liquid trickling down my inner thigh. A grown woman should not allow herself to get in this state. Somehow I reach the bathroom and manage to hitch my dress up and lower myself on to the toilet seat. The relief is instant. The cramping pain remains, though; if anything it gets worse. For a second I wonder if it is a period pain, if both tests could have been wrong after all. But although I have only known for a matter of hours, I feel pregnant now. I am sure of it. I decide it must be the alcohol, twisting my gut. I stand up and head back to the doorway, not being in a state to flush or wash my hands. I realise liquid is still trickling down my thigh. I do not understand. I fumble for the light cord and pull it. The first thing I see is the streaks of red on my hand. I think it is the drink playing tricks on me. Until I see a trail of red spot and confetti leading back to the lavatory. There is blood on the carpet. I hurry over to look into the pan, and a violent palette of red greets me. A sharp intake of breath: I want to scream but no sound comes out. The cramping pain tightens. I lift my skirt again and pull down my knickers to be confronted by a clot of something, darker red, a tiny lump of fibrous tissue – human tissue. The scream emerges, shrill and ragged. I frantically pull off my knickers and throw them into the bath. I do not want to examine the evidence; I know what I have done. I sit heavily on the toilet seat, breathing fast and shallow between sobs. My body is shaking, my head seems suddenly clear, but I have no idea what to do. I screw my face up as the cramping comes again and the realisation hits me in the same wave as the pain. I have killed Edward's baby, the baby he didn't even know he had. I have poisoned it, flushed it out of my body. I may as well have drowned in the bath at birth. Baby killer. That is what I am.

My body continues contorting, squeezing the life from me. I have no idea how much blood I have lost or how much more there is to go. I cannot face looking in the bowl again in case I see more clots, more tissue, a tiny heart which has stopped beating.

In one day I have lost everything: the only man I've ever loved and the only thing I had left of him. I want it back now, but it is too late. I should have thought of that before I pulled the trigger. Because I did. My baby's blood is on my hands. Literally. The sobbing becomes hysterical. I sit and rock back and forth on the toilet seat, trying to calm myself, to soothe the pain away.

"I'm sorry," I say in the direction of the bath, "I'm so sorry."

**I know, I understand. I know you want to murder me, take my skin away s l o w l y , but you can't do that, canya?? You want to know what happens next in this story, right?? **

**1 more chapter until the present day!! YAY! :D**

**REVIEWS=HAPPY WRITER**

**_-Angel on Air_**


	15. Chapter 15

**Okay, I mentally kicked my ass just for your sake. You get two chapters in one day!! yay!! hehehehe I know most of you hates last chapter. I did too but still, whaqt is done is done. LETS GET READING!**

Chapter 14: I Will Always Love you

BPOV  
Saturday 9th August, 2001

I sit in the chair staring at the woman who faces me in the mirror. She repulses me. So much so that I cannot bear to look at her any more. I am getting rid of her. She is rotten. All the badness needs to be cut away.

The hairdresser is standing behind me. Irina her name is. I don't know her; I have never been here before. The salon was picked at random from the Yellow Pages. I don't want chit chat, questions whether I'm going out tonight or have any holiday plans. I want the job doing quickly and properly. No questions asked.

She is combing through my long, wet hair, the water flicking off the ends of my curls on to my gown. She puts the comb down and picks up the scissors.

"Are you sure about this?" she says, looking at me in the mirror, "Only sometimes people get cold feet at the last minute. I'd rather you changed your mind now than when it's too late."  
I fix her a look. I do not need this.

"Short, please. Like I said,"

She starts cutting. The snip of the scissors gathers pace, the cold steel blades tickling the back of my neck. I watch my long, wild curls fall silently on to the floor. There is no place for such frivolity in my life now. O repent. I am going straight.

Already my head feels lighter my shoulders less burdened. It will be a long time before I can hold my head up high, perhaps never. Bit it is a start. I watch the emergence of the new Bella in the mirror. It suits her, short hair. She looks serious, business like. Someone not to be messed with.

Irina finishes off and shows me the back of my head in the mirror. I nod approvingly. The remnants of the old Bella lie lifeless on the floor around me. She is dead now. Dead and buried. Irina seems sad about this. She brushes some stray hairs from my gown, sweeps up the considerable pile of dark curls on the floor and pushes them out of the way. I am not sad. It is long overdue, this parting of the ways. I want everything swept under the carpet. I want to start anew.

I walk out into the street. People look at me differently. In fact, most of them don't look at me at all. Which is good, it's what I want: a cloak of anonymity I can hide behind. I catch the bus back to my flat. My car is gone. Sold to a woman is Brownsover who wanted something fun to ferry the kids around in. I didn't tell her the real reason I was selling it. That Edward had been in it once, that I could still see him sitting there in the passenger seat, smell him on the upholstery. Just said I was going away. That I needed the cash.

I let myself into the flat and immediately recheck my hair in the hallway mirror. She stares back at me, the new Bella. Not smiling, of course. It is too soon for that. But at least she can look me in the eye. If the Labour party can reinvent itself successfully then so can I. The new Bella is different. Not just in the surface but inside as well. She is good. Sensile. Serious. Her head rules her heart. She doesn't do bad things. She will not hurt others, or get hurt. She is tough. She has to be to survive.

I go through to the main room. A small pile of my belongings sits in the corner. A large suitcase of clothes, a holdhall of books, CDs and newspaper cuttings and a rucksack crammed full of my remaining possessions. CD payer, camera, a pair of walking boots which wouldn't fit in my suitcase, that sort of things. I have left the side pockets for the last-minute bits and pieces I need to pack in the morning, but essentially that is it. All my wordly possessions. They do not amount much. But it is all I am taking with me. The furniture came with the flat. I never got round to buying a TV. There is some crockery bowls but I am leaving those for the next tenant. I do not want anything which reminds me of this place or that Edward has touched. That is why I am not taking the bedding. The pillows we kissed on. The sheets we had sex on, the duvet we draped our deceit in. They are contaminated. Soiled. And no amount of washing will remove it. I will buy a fresh set when I get there. It will be worth it to feel clean again.

What I am looking forward to most is having a bath. I have not been able to bring myself to have one here since. As far as I'm concerned I no longer have a bathroom at all: it is a crime scene. I see it in my head cordoned off with orange police tape, the guys from Criminal Minds looking around for more clues as to what to do next.

I wish I never had to go in there. But unfortunately I still have to use the loo. Like I do now. I walk up and down, trying to put it off as long as possible. Waiting until the desperation overrides the dread. I turn the handle down and dash inside, unzipping my jeans as I go. I shut my eyes as I near the toilet, still unable to look into the pan, instead feeling for the seat with my outstretched hand. When I reach it I turn around, drop my trousers and hover over it as I pee. I keep my eyes on the far wall, not daring to look down. I bought a long rug to cover the bloodstains on the carpet. But it is purely cosmetic. I know what lies beneath. I zip myself up, wash my hands and march out, pulling the door shut tight behind me as I breathe out. It is all over for a few more hours. If I don't drink much I might make it until bedtime without having to go again. And tomorrow is Sunday. Tomorrow I shall be leaving and never coming back.

**********

The bell in my flat rings. The cab is ten minutes early which is good. I am ready to go. I do not want to wait any longer. The suitcase and rucksack are already downstairs in the hall. I pick up the holdhall and take one last look round. I see Edward lying on the bed, the same expression on his face I always see. The one he used to wear when it was time to go. Only it is his turn to be on the receiving end this time. Because although he doesn't know it yet, I am leaving him.

I sling the holdhall over my shoulder and walk briskly out of the room. As I pass the closed bathroom door I feel my stomach tighten, the tears prick my eyes again. For the first time since, I actually want to go inside, to say my farewells. I won't though. I will let it rest in peace. And I will flee the scene of crime.

I tell the cab driver to go the long way to Rugby Station. The rote that takes us past _The Chronicle _offices. I want to ensure I haven't left part of me behind. That I will not be carrying excess baggage. We swing round the corner, I glance up to the first floor, se the window above Edward's desk. He is not there, of course. He is on his way back from his honeymoon. Somewhere over the Atlantic. Bronzed and beaming, his new wife by his side. But when he arrives at work tomorrow he will find me gone. I haven't left him a note, I don't have the words. The others will have to tell him. That I handed my notice in two days after his wedding. Before I'd had the interview at Scarborough, let alone been offered the job. But it is official now. I am taking the last week of my notice period as holiday. I have left. And I won't be coming back.

The cab pulls up outside the station. The driver takes my luggage out of the boot as I rummage in my purse for some change.

"Off somewhere nice, are you?" he says.

"Yes," I say, "Away from here. I hoist the rucksack onto my back, pick up the holdhall and inch the suitcase towards the ticket booth with my foot.

"Single to Scarborough, please." I say

"You'll have to change at Birmingham New Street, then again at York," the small man behind the glass says. I nod. It's not a problem. Change is good.

I take my ticket and drag my suitcase first through the tunnel to platform one. It is Sunday morning quiet. A few students on their way back to university, a few Saturday-night stragglers heading home. The train arrives on time. I struggle on board, suitcase first, me laden with the rucksack and holdhall behind. I sit in a forward-facing seat. I want to see the future, not the past I am leaving behind. But as we are about to set off I catch sight of her standing in the platform. The old Bella. Her long curls blowing in the breeze, tears streaming down her face. She is clutching Edward's denim jacket and wearing a blood-soaked skirt. She is waving at me, calling out my name. I pretend I do not recognise her and do not wave back. The train pulls slowly away.

**LIKED IT? HATED IT? WHATEVER YOU THINK, REVIEWWWWW!!! The song that gives name to this chapter is I Will Always Love you, By Whitney Houston;I recommend you listen to it after this chapter.**

**REVIEWS = HAPPY WRITER**

**NEXT CHAPTER PRESENT DAY!**

**_-Angel on Air_**


	16. Chapter 16

**AN:Hiyaa guys! missed me?? Okay, I know I took longer than I usually do but I hope you can forgive me. PLEASE READ THIS AN FULLY!  
First of all, I want to thank all the people who reviewed and subscribed this story into their favourite/story alerts, you rock guys!! I mean I never thought of getting 157 reviews. I would have been happy with 3 :D But please don't deny yourself the chance to comment, reviews are always welcome!! x)  
Secondly I need to do a bit of explanation about this chapter:**

**Seven years in Bella's life have passed. She has 'moved on' and started her new life. In this chapter, Bella and her boss Emmet are interviewing people for a vacant position as political reporter. She is in a bit of a flashback/presentkindof state but we'll get it sorted out ;)**

**thirdly, the gang is coming up in the story but like really secondary role, and VERY out of character. like VERY VERY. ok LETS GET READING! **

Chapter 16: I'm not in love

_I'm not in love, so don't forget it__  
__It's just a silly phase I'm going through__  
__And just because I call you up__  
__Don't get me wrong, don't think you've got it made__  
__I'm not in love, no-no __  
__(It's because...)_

_I like to see you, but then again__  
__That doesn't mean you mean that much to me__  
__So if I call you, don't make a fuss__  
__Don't tell your friends about the two of us__  
__I'm not in love, no-no_

BPOV  
2008

His name was fourth on the list. Coming after Flaherty, Rowbotham and Lees. It was his name but it didn't mean it was him. Only that after all this time, I still flinched at the sight of it.

"Is this it?" I said to Emmet, waving the piece of paper in the air. "NO CVs or anything?"

"They're probably somewhere in Doreen's filing system," he said, staring out from his goldfish bowl office across the newsroom.

"And where is Doreen today?"

"Shopping for shoes in Stratford-upon-Avon"

"What's wrong with the shoe-shop in Birmingham?"

"Not the same level of service, apparently,"

I shook my head. Doreen filed Princess Diana's death under M for minor royal. Trying to find the CVs would involve probing the dark recesses of her mind as well as her filing cabinets. I didn't want to go there. To be honest, I didn't even want to be doing this interviews. But Phil was still off with stress (allegedly caused by the disappearance of his deputy editor clipboard) and Keith and Lisa were too busy presiding over the military junta on the news desk to be called upon. Besides, for some reason I had yet to work out, I was Emmet's 'chosen one'. Which explained why I was sitting there staring at a list of names. One of which was causing the crisp white shirt I had put on that morning to stick to my back.

"Do you remember anything about them?" I said, "Any names, male or female, where they're working?"

The permanent furrow in Emmet's brow deepened. "One's a woman, works on some magazine, one's shifted on the nationals, one's a lobby correspondent for the Press Association and one works for _Western Mail _in Cardiff. Not sure which is which, though."  
It wasn't much help. A bit like playing the fifty-fifty card on _Who Wants to be a Millionaire_. I was left with two possible candidates, the middle ones. I was pretty sure he'd gone to London at some point as I'd seen his byline on political stories in various national newspapers. But my latest efforts to Google him had drawn a blank. He seemed to have gone off the radar. I managed a thin smile at terry as I tapped my fingers repeatedly on the desk. Hating myself for being so pathetic, for getting worked up like this. I had to stop panicking, think rationally. Reassure myself that there would be no reason on Earth for him to apply for the job on political editor on the _Birmingham Evening Gazette_.

"Let's hope they're a bit more memorable in the flesh," I said. Not the last one on the list, though. I didn't want him to be memorable. Because, as daft as it seemed, I didn't want to work with someone with the same surname as him.

A robust knock interrupted my line of thoughts and the door opened to reveal a stern-faced woman dressed in a charcoal trouser suit with a fine white pinstripe.

"Marie Flaherty" she said, only a trace of Scouse accent remaining. Emmet shook her hand, introduced himself and turned to me.

"This is Bella Swan, our chief reporter."

Marie Flaherty nodded, shook hands like a man and sat down without being asked. Ba-boom. I was impressed. The rest of the newsroom, it seemed, were not. On the other side of the glass, Alice was holding up an ice-skating-style scoreboard reading '3.5' followed by 'boots' as a way of explanation of her marking criteria which, she has already informed me, would concentrate on artistic impression rather than technical merit. As Marie detailed the qualities she could bring to the role, I allowed my gaze to drop down to her feet, which were encased in black patent boots with kitten heels and splats of white fur all over them. It was weird how I never noticed these things myself.

"Anything you'd like to ask, Bella?" Emmet was looking at me, unaware that I hadn't been paying attention.

"Have you got any cuttings we can look at?" I said, hoping to fill in some of career details from the missing CVs.

She unclasped her immaculate briefcase, which looked as if it had been bought especially for the occasion. As she pulled out a plastic folder a fluffy white toy dog with a red ribbon and a bell around its neck tumbled on to the floor. I waited for her to apologise, to blush, explain that it belonged to her daughter or something. She didn't. She simply giggled like a high-pitched machine gun and squeaked, "Oops, lucky mascot," as she picked it up and sat it on her knee.

"Oh God," I groaned as I lowered my head into my hands. The warning sign was obvious now. Woman in unsuitable footwear. I should have guessed she'd be an emotional flake. Come to think of it, she probably worked for _Dog World_. It would be on her CV, somewhere in the filing cabinet.

Emmet couldn't suppress his laughter as Marie gathered her things and scuttled out of the office shortly afterwards.

"I wasn't sure who I was supposed to be interviewing," he said, "Her or the poodle."

"I'm sorry," I looked down at my feet.

"What for?"

"On behalf of the female species, I apologise for her existence."  
Emmet laughed, "Oh well, that's the token woman gone. Now we'll get onto the serious candidates,"

He said things like that to wind me up. He wasn't the only one. 'Bella-baiting' it was called at the office.

Rowbotham looked like a Rowbotham should. Tall, sculpted hair like that stand-in newsreader on BBC1 at the weekends, creases in his trousers, perspiration on his upper lip. Alice was holding up '2.1' before he'd at down.

He introduced himself as Rowbotham, as if he was a civil servant in the MOD. They pissed my off, people who pretended they didn't have a first name. I decided to go in hard.

"Can you tell me how exactly you'd make politics relevant to the lives of our readers in Handsworth?" I asked.

Rowbotham raised his eyebrows slightly, shifted in his chair so he was facing Emmet, and began. "I don't believe in dumbing down, Mr. McCarthy. I believe in encouraging working class people to embrace the complex political issues we face today, to recognise the implication that closer European union and the creation of a federal Europe would have on the sovereignty of this country.."

His voice droned on, directed exclusively at Emmet's direction. As if I was some dumb secretary hired to relay the questions. I resisted the temptation to yank his head round to face me, deciding instead to let him continue talking himself put of a job. What he didn't realise was that Emmet's instructions of the local elections had been 'Don't make it too political'.

We were down to the last two. I could feel beads of sweat gathering on my forehead, belying my otherwise cool exterior. It was as if the old Bella was seeping out of me. Telling me it was okay to lose control. It was fine that a tiny part of me wanted it to be him. Which it wasn't, I knew that. I had Jacob now. I had a whole new life. The old one had nothing to offer me.

At some point in the proceedings Rowbotham had evidently stopped to draw breath and Emmet managed to get him out of the office. Because a new man was sitting in the chair now. A man with a ridiculously small head for his body. Who was twiddling is thumbs, which sat on hands which were too big for his arms. I imagined a new Mr Men book. _Mr Out of Proportion_. With a primary colour version of our man Mr Lees on the cover. Alice has placed her scoreboard on the top of her computer. '1.5(ginger pinhead)'. I thought she was being a bit harsh. I didn't have a problem with red hair. I found the Welsh accent rather soothing after Rowbotham's clipped tones. And he seemed very knowledgeable about the Welsh Assembly.

"So, tell us about Cardiff," Emmet liked questions liked that. Thought they opened people up.

Mr Lees took a deep breath, though for a moment, his eyes glistening, and started to cry. Not a single tear trickling down his cheeks but a torrent, enough to warrant a man-sized box of Kleenex. I noticed his crumpled jacket, the faint smell of alcohol which had drifted in with him, and wondered if he was going through some kind of personal crisis.

"I'm sorry," Mr Lees said, eventually, his long fingers like windscreen wipers, brushing the tears away, "I get very emotional talking about my birthplace"

That was it. No family tragedy. No tale of death and destruction. The guy simply liked the place he was born in. I was quite fond of Leamington Spa myself but couldn't imagine ever bawling my eyes out at the mention of it.

I looked at Emmet; he shrugged. I rolled my eyes. Three down one to go. I wasn't going to be put out of my misery yet, though. I had to wait for Mr Lees to compose himself, to tell us how his great-grandfather came to work at Cardiff docks and how it was a joy to live and work with his fellow countrymen, before he finally left. Taking a look around the newsroom as he went, where Alice's sign was still on prominent display.

"Imagine if I offered him the job," said Emmet, shaking his head, "He wouldn't be able to tear himself away. Tiger Bay would be flooded during his leaving speech."

I nodded and smiled. I wasn't thinking about Mr Lees though. I was thinking about the next person who was going to walk through the door. The one who, unless this was some kind of set-up for an 'interviewees from hell' TV show, was going to get the job.

"I reckon the next one will be smoking a pliff and suggest we run a feature on MP's favourite porn websites," said Emmet, chuckling to himself. I wanted to remind him that he'd selected these people. It didn't say much for his judgement. Unless the rest of the applicants had been worse than this, which was hard to imagine.

We waited for fifteen minutes past his allotted time of midday. That was when I knew. He used to be late for everything. It was simply a matter of waiting then, until I caught a glimpse of his head and shoulders bobbing along above the filing cabinets.

"I'll ring reception," Emmet said, "See if he's left a message,"  
"No need," I said, "He's here."

"How do you know?"

"Female intuition."

As If on cue, the door opened and he walked in. Resplendent in his Burberry trench coat. Hair the colour of an early sunset. Stubble caressing his chin. Shit. He looked even better than I remembered.

"Edward Cullen," he said, "Sorry I'm late,"

His introduction was directed to Emmet. But by the time he got to the apology he was, rather aptly, looking at me. Seven years too late, actually. That's what I should have said. I didn't though. I smiled politely at him. Waiting for him to react.

"Bella," he sounded surprised, unsure, nervous even.

I tried to hide the fact that I was disappointed he didn't sound pleased.

"Long time, no see," I replied. It was a stupid thing to say. I'd tried to sound unimpressed but it had come out all wrong. I stood up and steadied myself for a moment. I felt like one of those balloon animals, knotted and twisted in all the wrong places. I waited for him to come towards me, to hold out his hand, before I stepped forward and shook it.

"How are you?" he said, as if he cared.

"Fine, thanks," I replied, as if I didn't.

"I take it you two know each other," Emmet said. I was trapped in some crap movie where everyone says stupid things.

I waited for Edward to answer but both he and Emmet were looking at me.

"Edward was the news editor on the Rugby Chronicle when I was a trainee there."

I managed to make it sound as distant and fleeting as possible. Hardly worth the mention. Giving no inkling of what had really happened between us. I glanced at Edward to see if he looked hurt. He didn't.

"Small world, journalism," Emmet said, "That's why I'm nice to Bella, in case one day she ends up my boss one day,"

My laugh sounded strained. Edward's wasn't much better. We all sat down. Edward took of hid trench coat, looked for a coat stand and, seeing there wasn't one, hung it over the back of his chair. He was immaculately dressed in a brown moleskin suit and cream shirt. It was weird seeing him like that; I remembered a much scruffier version of him. I could smell his aftershave on my hand. I didn't recall him wearing it before. I wondered what else had changed. He was older, for a start. Thirty-seven by my reckoning. But unfortunately he was one of those annoying people who get better looking with age. The smile was still the same, though. I used to be a sucker for that smile. I tried to block out the memory of the last time I had seen it. In case I dislodged the cry of anguish which was still somewhere in my throat.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Alice brandishing her scoreboard: '9.0 (drop-dead gorgeous)'. I glanced around. Every pair of female eyes in the office were looking in his direction. And one pair of eyes belonging to a male sub-editor who was single and had a penchant for black polo-necks. Edward clearly hadn't lost his touch. Bastard.

**(I was going to end it there but I thought what the hell and carried on, heheh so you better be grateful xD)**

"So, tell me about yourself, Edward. And want you want this job."

Emmet asked the question. I feigned indifference to the answer.

"Well, I've always had a keen interest in politics. I used to be politically active in my younger days. Bit of a hothead to tell you the truth," he glanced at me and grinned. I didn't respond. "I've spent several years shifting on the nationals in London and covered a lot of political stories in that time. But to be honest I've become disillusioned with national newspapers. I miss the contact with readers, the feeling of serving a community. And most of the stuff I was covering was tittle-tattle, nothing that affected real people's lives. This is a chance to do what I love doing, covering real politics about real people."

It was as if he'd swallowed a book called _How to Impress Regional Editors in Interviews _for breakfast that morning. I glanced at Emmet; he had that expression on his face. Like a kid who'd found a Jammie Dodger in a box of Rich Tea biscuits.

He was going to get the job. I was going to have to see him, smell his aftershave, every working day. It was bad enough that he had the power to invade my dreams. Walking back into my life as well was such a bloody cheek. I sat on my hands to stop them shaking. Isabella Swan doesn't do shaking. Not the one everyone here knew, anyway. Edward only knew the old Bella. I wondered if I should tell him that she was no longer with us. Give him the chance to offer his condolences.

"Bella?" It was Emmet's voice. He and Edward were both looking at me. I guessed it was my turn to make a question. Just one question, any question. Quickly.

"Who, what, why, when, where, how" I blurted out.

That's what they taught you at journalism college. And they were the only questions I could think off. Edward and Emmet were looking at me as if I'd lost the plot. Which I had. Ten minutes on his presence and I was already a jibbering wreck. God knows what I'd be like after working with him for a month. But I wasn't going to let him do it again to me. Churn me up inside and then spit me out. I was stronger than before. The brittleness had been replaced by a Teflon coating. I took a deep breath.

"Edmund, sorry, Edward. Let me expand on that. Who are you trying to kid with that stuff? What went wrong for you in London? Why didn't you get a staff job? When did you decide you wanted to live in Birmingham? Where do you see yourself in five years' time and how seriously do you think we should take you?"

Emmet finally broke the silence which followed with what sounded like a cross between a laugh and a snort.

"I think that was Bella's way of finding out if you're up to the task of sparring with Clare Short," he said.

"Edward looked up, "Actually," he said, "I think that was Bella's way of getting past the bullshit. She was always very good at that."

I wasn't sure if it was praise or sarcasm. I opted for what I hoped was a neutral expression.

"Right, moving swiftly on…" said Emmet.

"I haven't answered yet," he said.

"You don't have to."

"I want to. Okay, I admit it. I'm a sad failure of a hack. I didn't get a staff job because my face didn't fit. I didn't arse-lick as much as required and I wasn't prepared to drop stories it they didn't fit the political line of whoever I was working for. Plus I was the wrong side of thirty five. I never had any intention of living or working in Birmingham. I've no idea where I'll be in five years' time but if I'm still here it's because I like it. And you should take me as seriously as anyone who comes in their lifetime ambition to work for the _Birmingham Evening Gazette_ and that if they get the job they'll never look at the ads in the _Press Gazette_ again."

Another pause followed. Emmet sat scratching his head. He glanced across at me and raised his eyebrows. I shrugged. Emmet nodded. I looked down at my foot just in time to see the bullet I'd fired blow it apart.

"Congratulations, Edward." Emmet said, standing up and grinning as he held his hand out across the desk. "When can you start?"

**AN: LIKED IT? HATED IT? PLEASE REVIEW!! I REALLY LIKE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK,HEHEHE.**

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**_-Angel on Air_**


	17. Chapter 17

**I've been roaming around  
Always looking down at all I see  
Painted faces, build the places I cant reach...(8)**

**HIYAAAA GUYS! MISSED MEE!!??!?!?!?!!?!? Okay, okay, sorry :$ I've been a bit hyped up recently :DUmm bythe way, sorry about lat chapter's authro's notes at the end hehehe...I was on some kind of caffeine high so as to finish my english paper :P ANyway, in this chapter I by no means try to insult anyone, I just did some things to give to the characters, IM NOT TRYING TO SAY IM BETTER THAN YOU OR THAT YOUR RIGHTS/BELIEFS/ANYTHING THAT HAPPENS THAT MIGHT OFFEND YOU IN ANOTHER CONTEXT ARE WORSE OR BETTER THAN MINEOKAY??? CLEAR? Nice. :D Well, then...LETS GET READING!**

Chapter 17: Use somebody

BPOV

2008

"So, did he get the job?"

I hadn't even sat myself down before Alice started. I made a point of putting my notebook away in the drawer, clicking the lid back on my pen and shuffling some papers before I answered.

"Why the sudden interest in our political coverage?"

"Well, he's a damn sight better-looking than Andrew Marr, for start. Did he get it or not?"

I realised the newsroom was eerily silent. I glanced around. Several people pretended to start typing.

"Come on," I said, "Your turn to buy lunch." Alice gave a toothy grin, picked up the heap of festering sackcloth which she claimed was a bag and headed for the door.

We made it to the swipe card barrier downstairs before her persistent questioning wore me down.

"Yes, he got it. But only because the others were all fruitloops."

"Excellent."

"You're a bit keen, aren't you? Forgive if I'm wrong, but aren't you going out with someone called Jasper?"

"His name's Jazz, actually,"

I'd forgotten the recent rebranding exercise. Apparently Jasper was not a suitable name for a guitarist is a rap metal band called Septicaemia.

"Does the artist formerly known as Jasper not do it for you any more, then?" I asked.

"I like to keep my options opened, that's all."

This was Alice's euphemism for saying she didn't do monogamy. I gave her my disapproving look as we pushed through the front doors and hurried towards the subway, the October sunshine failing to take the chill out of the air.

"So come on. Dish the dirt, then. What's the new guy like?"

"Well, sorry to disappoint you, but he' married, for a start."

"Is he? Only he wasn't wearing a ring."

I came to an abrupt halt on the bottom of the steps while I rewound the video in my head. It turned out I hadn't looked at his left hand during the interview. I tried to rewind further, to the last time I'd seen him. There'd been a wedding ring then. I could see it glinting in the sun. I couldn't see anything else.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"Yeah. I clocked him as he walked past. You know me, never one to miss a detail."

Alice had all the _Prime Suspects _on video and could match any scrap of forensic evidence to a particular episode. They called her DI Thorneycroft at work.

"Did he say he was married then?"

"Not in so many words," I said, struggling to get out of the hole I'd dug for myself, "He just kind of gave that impression."

I started moving again. Marching through the urine-stench of the subway and up the steps the other side, not wanting Alice to see my face. Thinking about Edward Cullen and the significance of the missing ring. It sounded like the next offering by J.K. Rowling.

"So what's his name?" Alice caught up with me as I began threading my way between the human traffic in Colmore Row.

"Cullen,"

"Nice. First name?"

"Edward."

"Reason you don't like him?"

"What?"

"He obviously rubbed you up the wrong way."

I wasn't making a very good job of this. I didn't usually lie to Alice. But it felt wrong to be talking about Edward. He didn't belong in this world. He belonged to another time. Another place. Telling Alice about him would make him real.

"I thought he was a bit of a prick, that's all."

"Why, what did he say?"

"Nothing in particular, he was just, you know, so full of himself."

"So how come he got the job?"

"I told you, the others were crap. Anyway, it was Emmet's decision."

"You didn't want him to get it, then?"

I hesitated, unsure of the true or answer and the answer I should give to Alice.

"No, I didn't."

It was the answer I thought I should give to Alice.

The queue at Starbucks was longer than usual, probably because we were later than usual. Edward's fault. I gave the ritual glance over my shoulder before I went in, aware that if Jacob's mother saw me I would have some serious explaining to do. I couldn't remember exactly what it was Starbucks was supposed to have done. Polystyrene containers, low wages, cruelty to coffee beans or just one of those non-specific globalisation things. Whatever it was it was bad and my patronage of their premises was telling them it was OK to be bad (I had resisted the temptation to point out that it was also telling them they made a particularly fine sun-dried tomato, mozzarella and pesto Panini. I was already in her bad books, I didn't want to make it worse)

I ordered a decaf skinny latte to go with my Panini.

"And a tall latte, please" said Alice, who would have my unwanted portion of fat and caffeine in hers if they'd do it. I led the way downstairs. It was easier to eat upstairs but Alice had a thing about the comfy chairs, the aubergine ones in particular.

"So, what have you been working on?" I said, keen to steer the conversation away from Edward.

"Oh, the usual pile of crap from news desk. Though I am following up a call from some bloke who reckons an al-Qaida cell are running firm in Winson Green."

"Alice,"

"I know. Unlikely, but these things are always worth checking out."

I shook my head. "Never guess who I had in the back of my cab last week. Only that Osama Bin Laden."

"You won't be taking the piss when I break the story,"

"I'm still waiting for the one about Elvis being alive and well and working for Cadbury's."

"You always spoil it by wanting the proof."

"I told you, when I unwrap a Flake with "Love me Tender? Running down the middle, I'll believe you."

Alice turned up her nose, slurped her latte and got stuck into her tune melt. I needed our lunch breaks together. Without them the sanity became unbearable.

**************

"They're repeating the best ever _Taggart_ tonight" Alice said as we made our way back to the office. I'd never watched _Taggart_. Alice knew this but it didn't seem to make any difference.

"I'm afraid I shall be busy writing letters to President Putin about the disappearance of a human rights activist in the Chechen Republic."

Alice looked at me blankly for a moment before the penny dropped. "God, you get to write to some good people with this Amnesty lark. He's quite sexy, Putin. In a KGB kind of way. **(That was actually one of my friends said, heheh. She's kinda weird)**

I smiled, imagining Jacob's reaction if he'd heard Alice's comment. "Yep, that's what it's all about. Scoring with Russian presidents."

"Come on, you know you wouldn't do all this worthy stuff if it wasn't for Jacob," said Alice.

"Yes I would"

"Bollocks. You only agreed to be their press officer because you didn't want to upset him"

"I couldn't turn him down in front of everyone. He is the secretary."

Alice shrugged and wiped the last trace of tuna melt from her lips. Clearly being secretary of the Birmingham South branch didn't strike her as sexy. Not even in an Amnesty International kind of way.

I bought a bunch of flowers at the petrol station on the way home from work. Yellow spray chrysanthemums **(I can't believe I actually wrote that word. Can someone tell me if it's spelt like that? :D) **with two orange gerberas thrown in to justify the $4.99 price tag. They would brighten the flat up a bit. I only seemed to notice how drab it was when we were due to host an Amnesty meeting. Maybe it was the thought of all those grim faces reflecting the beige walls.

Meetings alternated between our flat and the branch chair Rachel's house. She lived in a four-bedroom town-house in Moseley. All antique furniture, stripped floorboards, real wool rugs and high ceilings. You practically had to shout to make yourself heard on the other side of the drawing room.

Coming to our flat after that experience must be a little like visiting Ikea when you're used to Fired Earth. No one ever said that, of course. They were far too polite.

I turned into Melville Road, It wasn't a bad place to live. The postal address was Edgbaston, which made it sound deceptively posh. We had trees, granted: huge old sycamores dotted at regular intervals along both sides of the road like bodyguards for the lampposts. But we were on the wrong side of the tracks, in our case the A456 which split Edgbaston in two. It didn't bother me; we couldn't have afforded a flat on the 'right' side, and it was nearer to the school where Jacob taught. But I was conscious of it when the Amnesty people came armed with their steering-wheel locks and immobilisers.

I reversed first time into a tight parking space, hoping the neighbour walking the Alsatian was suitably impressed. The fallen leaves from the sycamores had started to congeal, making the pavement slippery. I opened the gate, wincing as the bottom scraped along the concrete, and pushed my way past the shrubs which overhung the path. Once inside the main entrance I squeezed past Jacob's bike before letting myself into the flat. The kitchen door was wide open, Jacob was playing air guitar to Led Zeppelin in between stirring something that smelt very good and was bubbling away on the hob. He dropped the air guitar rather sheepishly as soon as he saw me.

"Oh, thanks, you shouldn't have," He was looking at the flowers, his brown eyes fizzing, the ends of his mouth turning up, dimples showing. He never bought me flowers. Something to do with pesticides. I was waiting for the day they sold organic gerberas. Not that it bothered me, the flower thing. He made up for it in other ways.

He rested the wooden spoon on the side of the wok, bounded forward and grabbed me round the waist before kissing me on the lips. Almost a year we'd been living together. Yet he greeted me with the same enthusiasm he'd shown the very first evening. His head nuzzled mine. I resisted the temptation to ruffle his scruffy hair, knowing how he hated it.

"Hello, you. Tough day?" he said, finally letting me go. I took it to mean I must look stressed.

"Frustrating. I didn't manage to get much done?"

"Did they want you on the news desk again?"

I should have said yes. I don't know why I didn't.

"No. Emmet asked me to sit in on the interviews for political editor." I took the flowers over to the sink and started unwrapping the cellophane, conscious of the colour rising in my cheeks.

"I'd have thought you'd enjoy that."

"Most of them were crap. The only woman was awful, really embarrassing."

"Who got it then?"

"Oh, some guy from London." I took the scissors out and started snipping the ends of the stalks. Diagonally, like you're supposed to.

"Any good?"

My stomach tightened. It was a simple, innocent question. So why did it feel like he knew something? He couldn't, of course. He didn't know Edward existed. There had been no reason to tell. And lots of reasons not to.

"He was okay, I s'ppose. Best of a bad bunch." I carried on snipping.

"You'll have to introduce me at the Christmas do. I might be able to persuade him to do stuff on the Green Party, or cover some human rights issues. "

I couldn't think of anything worse. Jacob and Edward in the same room. Past and present colliding. Me, cringing in the middle.

"There won't be much of those left in a minute." Jacob pointed out.

I looked down. I'd snipped away most of the stems.

"We've only got a small vase." I said, hurrying into the lounge.

It was true. We only has a small most of things. The portable TV was conspicuous by its lack of inches. The sofa was a close fit for two. The round table at the other end of the lounge took four at a push. Which was fine; we didn't need anything bigger.

I took the recycled glass vase (the bottom half of a wine bottle with a squiggle painted around the rim) back to the kitchen, filled it with water and plunged the flowers in. The gerberas barely poked over the rim.

Jacob smiled at me. I wish he wouldn't. It made me feel guiltier than ever about Edward. For a second I considered telling him. At least mentioning that I'd worked with Edward before. But it would seem strange saying it now. It would be obvious that I was covering something up.

"How were the kids?" I said.

"A bit hyper this afternoon. Lewis thumped Bradley for calling him gay. I sat them all down and tried to do the 'What's so bad about being homosexual?' thing. **(I am not trying to insult anyone with this. I am not homophobic, in fact, one of my best friends is gay and he's awesome :D)**

"And?"

"Lewis asked if I like it up the arse."

I gave Jacob's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. He had spent most of his career waiting for that _Dead Poets Society _moment. A cry of 'Captain, my captain' and the sound of children scrambling on to their desks in a mark of unbridled respect. It wasn't going to happen at an inner city comprehensive in Birmingham. I'd realised that the first time I'd met him. Some worthy theme he'd organized to get lads reading which I'd covered for the paper. But Jacob had never stopped believing. And I didn't have the heart to take away the hope.

"Oh well, at least you try," I said.

He shrugged. Nelson emerged from his basket, limped over and rubbed his smooth black body against Jacob's legs.

"Hey," Jacob said, scooping him u in his arms, "Are you trying to console me too?"

I suspected that Nelson(named after Mandela, not Horatio) was actually just hungry. He'd sussed Jacob right out from the beginning. Played the 'I'm homeless and have a leg missing' card, which has been guaranteed to work.

"Just give that a stir while I feed him" said Jacob., pointing to the wok. I swore I could hear Nelson purring 'sucker' under his breath. I picked up the spoon and moved it around in a figure of eight as Jacob had taught me. It was about as far as my culinary skills went, stirring. But as Jacob was such a whiz in the kitchen it didn't really matter.

"How long till it's ready?" I asked, peering into what appeared to be a vegetable chilli.

"Twenty minutes, or so," said Jacob, carrying the tin of Whiskers at arm length back to the fridge (the vet had advised against vegetarian cat food Jacob had found on the internet, so Nelson was the only member of the household who ate meat. I didn't miss it that much, to be honest. And as Jacob did all the cooking I didn't feel in a position to complain).

"Why don't you get a quick bath while I finish off and tidy up a bit before the gang descend on us?" he said.

I smiled at Jacob as I brushed pat on the way to the bathroom.

"You're too good to me," I said.

"No such thing," he replied with a grin.

Richard and Rachel were the first to arrive, both clutching piles of Amnesty newsletters, reports and magazines we already had. Rachel greeted us with kisses on both cheeks. Very continental but done with a distinctly British lack of warmth.

"All right, you two," Richard had the sort of Brummie accent that comedians took the piss out of. Personally, I found it rather endearing. Jacob shook his hand warmly and asked where he'd got that fleece jacket. It was one of his weaknesses, fleeces (the others being a passion for seventies rock music and the Aston Villa).

"The Roban shop in Sutton Coldfield," said Richard.

Jacob nodded, obviously calculating the likely price tag in his head, and said nothing. If he did ever wish he worked at a private girls' school, he never let it show.

They came through to the lounge and Rachel lowered herself on to a bean bag. She always did this, even when she arrived first and the sofa was empty. She looked uncomfortable but insisted that she was fine. Maybe she felt the need to suffer a little.

"So, how's work Bella?"

She was being polite. I suspected that journalists came somewhere between tyrannical despots and brutal dictators in her estimation.

"Oh, you know. Busy as ever,"

"They're getting a new political editor" chipped in Jacob, "Might be useful to us,"

"Oh, yes," said Rachel, "You'll have to use you charm on him, Bella. Get him on message."

Sex for column inches, that was what she was suggesting. I looked at Jacob who was nodding enthusiastically. Having no idea.

My twenty-five past seven we had eight people squashed into our lounge, some perching on an assort of chairs, others sitting cross-legged on the floor, seemingly enjoying the _Blue Peter_ness of it all. I was tempted to show them how to construct a human rights centre from a cereal box and a washing-up liquid bottle.

"Right," said Rachel, "As we're all here, let's get started. I suggest we hear from Jacob first then the individual campaign leaders. I'll give you a national update after that."

Jacob stood up. Not to be formal or authoritive but simply because he was incapable of sitting still while talking. He was the same when he was teaching. I remember watching him that first time we met, pacing around the classroom, waving his arms about like Johnny Ball on acid. It was one of the reasons I'd fallen for him. That his passion was genuine, not something he could switch on and off at will.

"The good news is membership has increased. The bad news is that attendance at branch meetings continues to fall. We need to find a way of encouraging more local members to get involved and come to meetings. Any ideas?" He looked at me, expectantly. I hated when he did that.

"Maybe we could change the time," I said, "Make it six o' clock so people can come straight from work. It's difficult to get them out once they're home and put the TV on."

"I'm not sure that would make any difference," said Rachel, "I can't imagine that Amnesty members would be bothered about missing _EastEnders­._"

The video whirred into life right on cue at seven-thirty. I could almost hear the drums at the start of the theme tune. I pretended to ignore it, hoping they would assume it was some worthy documentary on BBC2.

"I'll put the kettle on," I said, hurriedly leaving the room. It wasn't supposed to be done like that. At Rachel's house, Richard would silently withdraw at 8 pm and return five minutes later with a silver tea tray and plates of organic, Fairtrade digestives. I returned after ten minutes with a plastic tray containing an overflowing teapot, a jug of coffee, an assortment of odd mugs and a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

"Mmm, these are lovely," Rachel said, taking a bite, "Where are they from?"

"Er, I can't remember the name," I said, "They're Fairtrade and organic, from that little health shop on King's Heath."

They weren't. They were pesticide-assisted, probably made by exploted Third World workers and bought half price from Marks&Spencer. But they did taste good.

"Rachel's come up with a publicity idea, Bella," said Jacob, "For the campaign against arms trade. She thought we could organise a photo call where we all had TV remote controls strapped to our arms. You know, symbolise the need to control arms. Do you think the _Gazette_ would go for that?"

I stood there wondering how long it would be before the howl of laughter brewing inside me made its way out of my mouth.

"Sugar" I said, "I've forgotten the sugar;" I ran to the kitchen and emptied my laugh into a kitchen cupboard. By the time I went back they'd decided against the idea, in case it was seen as promoting the big electronic firms, who had some far-from-ethical practices.

"Never mind," I said, "I'm sure we can come up with something else."

********

Seemed to go well, didn't it?" said Jacob.

We were lying in bed after the meeting. The light was still on. He had his arm round me and was nuzzling my neck, his body pushed up tight against the curves of my own, as if he couldn't bear for there to be any space between us.

"Yeah, I guess so,"

I found it hard, sometimes, to muster even a fraction of the enthusiasm he showed.

"You didn't like Rachel's idea, did you?"

"Was it that obvious?"

"Only to me,"

"They'd have pissed themselves laughing at work."

"You've never really liked her, have you?" he said.

"She just gets a bit carried away sometimes. Forgets that we're not all as earnest about it as her."

"How do you mean'"

"You know…" I searched around for a comparison and voiced the first one that came to my mind, "Bit like your mum, I guess."

As soon as I said it, I realised it was mistake. Jacob's mum Dawn was beyond criticism. She had raised Jacob single-handedly after his dad walked out when he was nine months old, informing her that he needed 'space'(which turned out to be a euphemism for a beach hut in Goa).

"hey, come on, Mum's not that bad," said Jacob, "She just gets frustrated that we can't all be like her."  
As far as I could understand, this meant being a social worker in the most deprived area in Birmingham, living with a bunch of ex-fellow hippies in some kind of eco-friendly co-operative and attending peace rallies even when it meant missing her only son's graduation ceremony. Jacob insisted he hadn't been offended. Like he insisted that he hadn't minded spending most of his summer holidays at Greenham Common. I suspected otherwise. Like I suspected that his own early activism (he0d joined Greenpeace with the money he'd received for his tenth birthday) had been prompted by a desire to please her rather than to change the world.

"I'm not having a go at your mum, Jacob. I'm simply pointing out that it can be a bit relentless at times, this 'I'm worthier than you' crap."

"She's never said that."

"She doesn't have to, does she? Just gives me one of her looks"

"Don't Bella. You know I hate it that you two don't get along."

"That she doesn't think I'm good enough for you, you mean."

"Hey, come on. That's not true."

We both knew it was. Jacob tried to distract me by kissing my neck.

"Anyway," he said, breaking off for a second. "I've told you before, it doesn't matter what Mum thinks. I love you to bits and that's what counts."

I smiled, knowing I should be grateful for the last part of the declaration but aware of the hollow ring to the first. Aware that Jacob had spent his entire life trying to be worthy of her respect if not her affections. At least I didn't have to worry about her snubbing any future wedding for some anti-globalisation protest. Jacob didn't believe in marriage which was fine by me.

I looked at Jacob, who was wearing his anxious expression. I realised he was waiting for a response.

"And I love you too, so stop fretting."

"I worry, that's all. Don't want anything to spoil what we've got."

"Nothing will"

"The thing is," he said, "I'm so happy with you. I get scared sometimes. Like it's too good to be true. I keep expecting someone to take it all away. To say, "Come in, Jacob Black, your time is up."

I looked at Jacob, laying his souls open for me, baring himself in a way I had still never managed with him, much as I wanted to. I kissed him on the lips.

"You're such a daft bugger sometimes, you know." I said. "You're not in some sort of dream, this is for keeps."

Jacob smiled, a real smile this time, and buried his head on my shoulder, trying to hide his tears which were glistening in his eyes.

"I love you," he said.

"I know," I whispered back, "And now we've got that sorted out can turn the light off and let me get some bloody sleep."  
We lay in the darkness together, Jacob still not daring to let me go in case I somehow slipped away from him in the night. I stroked his back, conscious as ever as how fragile he was. How easy it would be to break him.

**LIKED IT? HATED IT? PLEASE REVIEW! I know I sound like a broken CD always sayin thesame things, but I hope you'll forgive me and carry on reading my story. :D This was 'Use Somebody' originally by Kings of Leon but interpreted by Paramore for this chapter :D:D:D**

****

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-Angel on Air


	18. Chapter 18

**Hey guys...you'll be probably wondering where on earth I have been during the last 2 weeks but I just couldn't bring myself to write a word. Apart from all my exams, I had to give in an art presentation which I did in all m free time. I've been sleeping about 4 hours for the past 10 days...And a little bit of the personal bit hasn't been too well recently...**

If You Could See Me Now

It was my last day of freedom. Physical freedom; mentally I'd never been free. I looked round the newsroom knowing that on Monday he'd be there, sitting a few yards away. Breathing the same air. Bastard. Why did he have to do this? Why did he have to spoil things for me?

I could always suggest moving the political desk. Have him excommunicated, or at least sent up to joint sport. I wouldn't be able to see him then. It would be a bit obvious, though. I might as well suggest turning his desk around so he'd be up against the wall with his back to everyone. And hiring a firing squad.

He wouldn't always be there, I knew that. He'd spend most of his time at the Council House and sometimes down in London. But on Monday morning he'd be sitting two desks away, smiling at me. And I couldn't see past that.

I picked up my briefcase and went up to the news desk.

"I've sent you a page lead on domestic violence," I said to Eric. He looked up from his Territorial Army magazine, a half-eaten pork pie in his hand.

"Is that still going on?"

I choose to ignore him. "Our local refuge says a third of all cases they deal with are against pregnant women."  
"You know why that is, don't you?" he said. "Their blokes have got more to aim for,"

He sat there chortling to himself. I resisted the urge to ram the rest of his pork pie down his throat. All I hoped was that when the call-up from the TA came it would be somewhere within range of American Friendly Fire.

I glared at Eric, picked up my coat and walked out if the office. It was raining. The sort of rain you hardly notice but which actually drenches you within a few seconds. I put my umbrella up, my head down, and started walking towards New Street. I was going to grab a sandwich for lunch. Alice had been at court all morning, which was okay because I fancied being on my own. I needed to sort my head out. To decide on a new strategy. I couldn't run any longer. He'd caught up with me.

The wind blew the bottom of my coat open, allowing the rain to spatter my trousers, I bit my lip. I was going to tough it out. To show him that he couldn't control me any more. That I was immune to the past.

I glanced up from under my umbrella as I reached corner of New Street. I could see the lower half of a _Big Issue_ seller. Frayed jeans and battered trainers which were clearly letting the water in- His hands were pale and shaking, gripping a plastic bag containing a dozen or so copies of the magazine. The rain was running down the plastic to his hand and disappearing inside the sleeve of his supposedly waterproof jacket. I stopped and rummaged my briefcase for some change.

"There you," I said, holding out 1.20$.

"Oh cheers. Thank you very much."

He delved into the plastic bag and produced a pristine _Big Issue_. In the time it took for me to take it and stuff it in my bag the cover had gotten soggy.

"Thanks," I said. "I hope it stops raining for you soon." I raised my umbrella, so I could actually see his face. The hood of his green waterproof was pulled tight, leaving a crinkled cut-out pasty flesh. The rain was running off his wonky, steel – rimmed glasses. His face was impersonating an exclamation mark.

"_Colin?"_ I said.

**I know, I know. It is crap and it is short and it is every bad adjective you can find but at least it's better than nothing right?**

**-Hope to update the real thing soon**

**angel on air**


	19. Chapter 19

**AN MISSED ME? MISSED MEEEEEEE?????????? Okay, okay I'm sorry :$ I know I've been a real cow to everyone for not updating sooner, but I really DID try my bestest to update quicker. Anyway, I hope you can forgive me. Leaving last 'chaper' (if you can call it chapter) out. For all of you who didn't understand all the bit about Jacob and Bella and blablablabla.... well, Jacob is one of these Greenpeace cool people that were bron tosave the planet and they were all just having a meeting about one of their campaings against globalisation and all that stuff. **

**THIS IS AN EDWARD/BELLA STORY, only she is right now 'otherwise engaged'. But we all know what's going to happen in the end right? xd Well, not really. I'm a very unpredictable person so you might get a surprise.... **

**Oh and Colin is the guy who lost by one vote in the elections that night that B and E well...you know. :D**

**So this is 'Thanks for the memories' by Fall Out Boy!**

**LETS GET READING! :D**

Thanks For The Memories

It was my last day of freedom. Physical freedom; mentally I'd never been free. I looked round the newsroom knowing that on Monday he'd be there, sitting a few yards away. Breathing the same air. Bastard. Why did he have to do this? Why did he have to spoil things for me?

I could always suggest moving the political desk. Have him excommunicated, or at least sent up to joint sport. I wouldn't be able to see him then. It would be a bit obvious, though. I might as well suggest turning his desk around so he'd be up against the wall with his back to everyone. And hiring a firing squad.

He wouldn't always be there, I knew that. He'd spend most of his time at the Council House and sometimes down in London. But on Monday morning he'd be sitting two desks away, smiling at me. And I couldn't see past that.

I picked up my briefcase and went up to the news desk.

"I've sent you a page lead on domestic violence," I said to Eric. He looked up from his Territorial Army magazine, a half-eaten pork pie in his hand.

"Is that still going on?"

I choose to ignore him. "Our local refuge says a third of all cases they deal with are against pregnant women."  
"You know why that is, don't you?" he said. "Their blokes have got more to aim for,"

He sat there chortling to himself. I resisted the urge to ram the rest of his pork pie down his throat. All I hoped was that when the call-up from the TA came it would be somewhere within range of American Friendly Fire.

I glared at Eric, picked up my coat and walked out if the office. It was raining. The sort of rain you hardly notice but which actually drenches you within a few seconds. I put my umbrella up, my head down, and started walking towards New Street. I was going to grab a sandwich for lunch. Alice had been at court all morning, which was okay because I fancied being on my own. I needed to sort my head out. To decide on a new strategy. I couldn't run any longer. He'd caught up with me.

The wind blew the bottom of my coat open, allowing the rain to spatter my trousers, I bit my lip. I was going to tough it out. To show him that he couldn't control me any more. That I was immune to the past.

I glanced up from under my umbrella as I reached corner of New Street. I could see the lower half of a _Big Issue_ seller. Frayed jeans and battered trainers which were clearly letting the water in- His hands were pale and shaking, gripping a plastic bag containing a dozen or so copies of the magazine. The rain was running down the plastic to his hand and disappearing inside the sleeve of his supposedly waterproof jacket. I stopped and rummaged my briefcase for some change.

"There you," I said, holding out 1.20$.

"Oh cheers. Thank you very much."

He delved into the plastic bag and produced a pristine _Big Issue_. In the time it took for me to take it and stuff it in my bag the cover had gotten soggy.

"Thanks," I said. "I hope it stops raining for you soon." I raised my umbrella, so I could actually see his face. The hood of his green waterproof was pulled tight, leaving a crinkled cut-out pasty flesh. The rain was running off his wonky, steel – rimmed glasses. His face was impersonating an exclamation mark.

"_Colin?"_ I said.

He nodded reluctantly, as if he had been cornered by police and had no option but to turn himself in.

"Hello, Bella"

"What the hell are you doing here?"

I didn't mean to say it, but Colin Leake had just sold me a _Big Issue_. The last time I'd seen him he was leader of the Labour Group in Rugby Borough Council. It was like some weird dream where people from the past turned up in unlikely new roles. Only it couldn't be a dream because in my dreams it hadn't actually occurred to me that I was dreaming, no matter how ridiculous the scenario. Maybe I was in something like _The Truman Show_ and the rest of the world was watching me now, waiting to see me face when I came across my old headmaster serving on Starbucks and my aunt Gladys in fishnet stockings touting for trade on the next corner.

Colin shrugged. "it is a long story."

"But I don't understand. Your job and your house and Sandra."

"Gone. All of them."

"Oh Colin." I said. "I'm so sorry."

He shrugged again.

"You're looking well." He said.

I looked down at my faux suede coat and leather briefcase. The guilt bubbled up from the well inside me and gushed to the surface. I was rubbing his face in it. I may as well be waving a wad of notes in front of him. And to think that a few minutes ago I was feeling smug because I'd given him 1.20$. I ought to give him my coat and umbrella, let alone all my cash and credit cards. Because I was the one who had put him there. Who'd made it go all wrong.

"Come on, I'm taking you for lunch." I said,

"That's very nice of you but it's my first week and I don't want to lose this pitch. It's my busiest time, you see.

"of course, sorry. I should have thought. What about a drink after work then, when we're both finished, about five? Give us the chance to catch up properly."

"You don't want to bother with a sad old git like me."

Well, I don't know about you, but I haven't got better offers."

He grinned. "Okay, you're on."

We arranged to meet at the Newt and Cucumber. I walked off up the road, shaking my head. I glanced back, checking I hadn't imagined it. Colin was shifting from one foot to another, his shoulders hunched, the rain dripping relentlessly off his glasses. This was a man who'd stood as an MP, who'd got a standing ovation at the Winter Gardens in Blackpool the same year Tony Blair had made his first speech. Now standing on a street corner. It was all so awful. And it was my fault.

I stumbled into Prêt A Manger and picked up a chargrilled vegetables on granary and a mango smoothie. I was about to pay for it when I realised how selfish I was being.

"Hang on a sec" I said to the man serving. I dashed back and got another chargrilled veg, a carrot cake and an orange juice. Vitamin C, that's what he needed. I hurried back down New Street. The rain was harder now, drumming its fingers on my umbrella urgently.

"Lunch," I said to a startled Colin as I thrust the paper bag into his hand.

"You don't have to do this," he said.

"You do like carrot cake, don't you? Only I can take it back and swap it for a chocolate brownie if you want."

"Beggars can't be choosers." He said, smiling.

"At least you haven't lost your sense of humour,"

"No," he said, "Not yet. Thanks very much."

"No problem," I said. "See you later.

I walked off, relieved to have won a few brownie points, or carrot cake points at least.

"Oi, Mother Teresa."  
The shout came from behind. I turned around. Alice was running towards me, her short black hair slicked against her head by the rain, the ends flicking water at people as she ran. If she did own an umbrella, I'd never seen her use it.

"Have you gone all religious on me?" she said when she caught up with me. "What is it, feeding the five thousand day?"

"Bloody hell, I can't do anything round here."

"Or is it a mobile soup kitchen project you've launched?"

"I know him. He used to be a councillor in Rugby. He was my best contact. Anyway it wasn't soup, it was orange juice.

"I'm sure he appreciated that. Just what you want when you're standing in the rain in October, orange juice."

She was right of course. I should have thought.

"Do you think I ought to go back and get him something warm?"

"What, like a fortnight's holiday in the Seychelles?" Alice grinned at me and sneaked under my umbrella as we walked back towards work. Somehow she always got away with it.

"Remind me not to help you out, if you ever fall on hard times." I said.

"So how did he end up on the streets?"

"I don't know yet. He said it was a long story. I'm meeting him after work tonight to find out."

Alice started laughing.

"What?" I said.

"You going out with a _Big Issue_ seller. The perfect way to cheat on Jacob."

The joke was meant to be on Jacob. I knew that. I felt indignant on his behalf.

"It's only a drink, I haven't seen him for years. He was the guy who lost by on vote in the general election, the year Labour got in."

"Fucking hell, I remember that. Saw him interviewed on telly. I've never seen anyone look so gutted."

The guilt reared its ugly head again. "Yeah well, the least I can do is buy the guy a drink and find out what happened."

"Could make a story. Maybe Blair turned down his begging letters."

I smiled at her as we arrived outside the _Gazette_. Actually that'd be good. It would make it someone else's fault.

********

Emmet was staring at his goldfish. This was a bad sign. He only did it after meetings with the MD or the bigwigs in London. I'd never known anyone able to look at a fish for so long. It was supposed to be therapeutic. For Emmet, not the fish. The fish was probably suicidal by now. Being stared at by a mardy sod with huge bags under his eyes.

"I'd better go and see him." I said to Alice.

"I don't know why you bother," she replied, "He enjoys being that miserable. I'd worry more if he was sitting there chuckling to himself."

I took my coat off, put my briefcase on my chair and picked up my sandwich. I suspected I was going to need sustenance to get through this one. I walked over and waved through the glass at Emmet. Nothing. I knocked on the door. No reply. I went in anyway and coughed loudly. He looked up.

"Oh thanks Bella. Just put it on my desk."  
I wondered if the news about me giving away sandwiches had somehow gotten back to the office.

"Err, it's mine actually. Haven't you eaten?"

"I went down to the cemetery."  
"Oh," Did I need to explain to him that M&S would have a better option for sandwiches?"

"You're a long time dead, you know."

I hated it when he went all profound on me.

"What's brought this on?" I said, taking a bite out of my sandwich.

"Look," he gestured towards the newsroom. Eric was standing zapping through Ceefax as if commanding a military operation. Lisa was eating a pot noodle in between laughing very loudly at Eric's jokes. Sport ere as ever watching the one-thirty from Uttoxeter. And the sub-editors were conducting some kind of experiment with the up and down mechanism on their chairs.

"What about it?"

"It's my life, isn't it? It may not be much but it's all I've bloody got."

"Apart from your wife and children you mean."

"You mean the woman who comes back to my house when the shops close and the baggy-trousered creatures who occasionally emerge from their bedrooms to ask me for money? Nah. This is what I live for. The reason I get up in the mornings."

"You're not dying or anything, are you?"

Emmet shook his head and sighed. "I0ve had word from London. They're cutting the editorial budget again."

"By how much?"

"Twenty per cent."

"Fucking hell."

"Yeah, that's what I said."

"Before you told them they couldn't do it, right?"

Emmet shrugged. "What's the point? They're not going to listen to me, are they?"

His backbone slid, vertebra by vertebra, on the floor and scuttled off ti hide under the filing cabinet. I went to his bookcase, picked up the dictionary, flicked through it and slammed it in to his desk, my finger pointing to the offending word.

"Read it." I instructed.

"Editor. Person in charge of the content of a newspaper."  
"Thank you," I said, snapping it shut.

"And you know as well as I do that count for nothing in London. It's the bean-counters there who run the place."

"Lie down and let them walk all over you, then."  
Emmet groaned and held his head in his hands. "This newspaper means the world to m."  
"So fight dirty. Work out how much money they could save if they gave the ad reps Fiestas instead or Mondeos or took away their executive boxes instead at Vila Park and St Andrew's. And ask why they need five people in promotions to organise a half-price pasty offer every month."

Emmet looked up. A glimmer of hope in his eyes. "You're right, Bells. You're always bloody well right. Why didn't I make you my deputy?"

"Because I'm allergic to clipboards. Can I go and finish my sandwich in peace now?"

"Yeah. Not a word to anyone though. You know the score."

I closed the door behind me.

"Well?" Said Alice.

"Just the usual domestic."  
"I don't know why we pay for an agony aunt, you know. When we've got you on our midst."

I made a mental note to raise this point with Emmet.

It was gone five by the time I got away, having made the mistake of taking a call from a member of the public who wanted to know the answer of eleven down had been in Tuesday's last crossword.

I hurried through the pavement rush hour. People were bursting out of the offices in quick succession, like one of those speeded-up films, the buzz of Friday evening reverberating around them. The Newt and Cucumber was quiet in comparison. No more than a dozen after-work drinkers, their silhouettes just visible through the fog of smoke which never seemed to lift, no matter how quiet the pub was. Colin was standing at the far end of the bar.

His hood was down revealing a head of thinning sandy-coloured hair in the process of turning grey. He looked about fifteen years older than when I sued to know him seven years ago. He smiled when he saw me. His teeth were wonkier than I remembered.

"Sorry Colin. I got held up." I said, "What can I get you?"

"oh, err, a lager please. I can't afford to buy you one back, mind."

"Doesn't matter. I'll get these on my expenses. Like the old days."

Colin grinned at me. I wouldn't really be able to put it on expenses. You couldn't claim anything back from this lot without a signed affidavit and a photocopy of the resulting story. But I wasn't going to tell him that. I ordered a Stella for Colin and a sparkling mineral water for me.

"Not drinking?" he said.

"No. I'm driving. Anyway I don't actually. Not now."

"Oh," Colin looked like he was about to ask why but thought better of it.

We sat down at a little table in the corner, sipping our drinks politely, smiling at each other. I didn't know where to start. "So, Colin. How did you manage to screw your life up?" sounded a bit harsh.

"Thanks for the sandwich." He said.

"Oh, God, don't mention it. How did it go this afternoon?"

"Okay," he said, "I sold them all in the end. Took a long while, mind."

"So how many copies was that?"

"Twelve," I did the maths in my head. Eights pounds forty wouldn't go very far.

"Do you want some crisps?" I said, "Or maybe something proper to eat. Something hot?"

"You don't have to do this, Bella."

"Do what?"

"Buy all my meal from now on. I appreciate what you're doing but…"

"I'm treating you like my charity case." I said, finishing his sentence.

Colin smiled. We both looked at our feet.

"Sorry." I said, "I just don't know what to do something to help. Here I am with a nice flat to go home to. I feel so bloody guilty."  
"It's not your fault."

I looked at Colin and grimaced. I should tell him now. It was the perfect opportunity. But still I couldn't quite get the words out. Once, when I was in infants' school, I'd wet myself while we were sitting on the floor, listening to the teacher tell us a story. I'd wanted to say something then but I couldn't. I'd waited until the trickle of warm liquid had reached one of the other kids. I'd let them shout out, 'Miss, Bella's wet herself.' Anything to avoid holding my hand up and confessing.

I looked Colin in the eye. But I couldn't do it on my own. Not without a pool of wee to give me away. I decided to go into journalist mode. I was safe with that.

"Tell me what happened," I said, "From the beginning."

Colin nodded slowly and took a slurp of is lager. It looked as if he was running through the story in his head. Making sure he'd got all the salient facts in the right order. That he wasn't going to miss out anything important. Very Colin.

"It all started with losing the election in 2001. One stupid vote. I've never known anyone lose an election by one vote."

"Nor me." I said. Every muscle in my body tensed. I ran my finger round the rim of my glass, pressing so hard I feared it would shatter at any moment.

"I took it very badly," he said, "You probably remember. But even months after you'd left, I still couldn't seem to shake the 'man who lost by one vote' tag. There was a lot of manoeuvring in the local Labour party and next thing I knew I'd been ousted as group leader, and Hazelwood took over."

"I never trusted that guy," I said, "Eyes too close together."

"Yeah, well. It didn't stop there. The following spring I was deselected to defend my ward seat in the local elections."

"But that's outrageous. You'd done a brilliant job."

"They didn't see it like that, they said I wasn't New Labour enough for them. Didn't have the Blairite credentials."

"Bastards."

"Yep. Stabbed in the back good and proper."

"So what did you do?"

"I resigned from the Labour party."

"Good for you," I said.

"And got depressed."

"Ah, not so good."

"Nope. But I had to blame someone so I figured I might as well blame myself."

My finger slipped off the glass, which skidded to the left. Colin put out his hand and stopped it.

"Thanks," I said as he put it back on my beer mat. He should have glassed me with it. If he'd known it was my fault he probably would have. No, that wasn't true. He was too nice for that.

"It must have really hit you, not being in politics after all those years."

"Yeah. My self esteem had all been tied up with being a councillor. Plain old mister Colin Leake was a loser and everyone knew it. I started taking days off. Ringing in sick. Sometimes not even bothering to ring. I'd never done that, you know, throw in a sickie in my life."

I nodded. It was the old slippery slope syndrome. Very hard to get off once you're on the way down.

Didn't Sandra help you?" I said.

"She tried to but I threw it all back in her face. I wasn't much fun to be around. Always moping about. Not even getting out of bed some days. And moaning the whole bloody time when I did. We made it through Christmas '02 but on New Year's Day she said she couldn't hack it any more and walked out."

I nodded in what I hoped was a sympathetic fashion. Usually I was good at this agony aunt stuff. But usually friends were telling me about stupid things. A guy who hadn't called when he said he would. Or a mother that couldn't stop interfering. Things that have always happened and always will. This was a whole new league.

"That's such a shame. You'd been together for years, hadn't you?"

"Yeah, since school, practically. I guess the only good thing was that we'd never got round to having kids. So when the divorce came through all we had to worry about was who got the record collection. It was quite amicable really. I never really liked Phil Collins."

I took a sip of water. It was like watching _EastEnders_. Unbearably grim but for some reason you felt compelled to go back for more.

"And after that?" I said.

"I was signed off work for six months with depression. The doctor gave me some pills but I didn't take them because I was worried about getting addicted. Eventually I got an appointment with some psychotherapist who told me that losing the election hadn't been the end of the world. I told him where to stick that and that was the end of that."

"So what happened with your job?"

Colin worked in the housing department at a neighbouring council. Some kind of welfare officer if I remembered rightly.

"They were okay at the beginning. Let me go back part time for a while. But when I went full time I started getting a little bit weird. Thought everyone was talking about me behind my back. I accused people of doing thins they hadn't done. Steeling from me. Throwing my things away, that sort of things. There was a hearing and I freaked out a bit and next thing I knew I was out of a job."

"Bloody hell. Didn't they realise you weren't well? Couldn't they make allowances?"

"not for calling my boss a fascist."

"Oh." I tried to suppress a smile. It wasn't funny. It was so awful I felt the need to do one of those hysterical laughs people do when they can't bear the assault or relentless bad any longer.

"And what about the house?"

"I had to sell it as part of the divorce settlement. I bough a flat instead but couldn't keep up with the mortgage repayments after I lost my job so it was repossessed. I had to go and live with my mother, which made me worse. I got it into my head that she was plotting against me, trying to poison me, so I stopped eating her food. That's when I got sectioned."

"Oh, Colin. I had no idea."

I'd always wondered why he hadn't stood again in the next general elections. But it had never occurred to me that he could be in a mental institution. I shook my head, unable to believe the consequences of my actions were so far-reaching.

"It wasn't that bad." said Colin. " They put me on so much medication I was spaced out most of the time. Didn't really know what was going on. They said I was suffering of bipolar disorder. It means manic depression."

"How long where you in there?"

"About a year, I think. I'm not really sure. When I came out I had to go back to live with my mum. Things were all right for a year or so. I took my pills and everything. Then one day I came back from an outpatient appointment and found my mum dead. Sitting bolt upright in her armchair. TV still blaring away. _Countdown_, it was."

"That's terrible."

"I know, I know. I can't stand Carol Vorderman."

"No Colin. Your mum."

He shook his head sadly. "It wasn't like we were close. She'd been a real cow to me as a kid. Just came as a shock. A week after the funeral I got a letter from the council saying I couldn't stay there because my name wasn't on the tenancy agreement. SO the next day I got up, packed a bag and left. Spent the first night on a bench. Bit of a cliché I know but it was the only place I could think of at the time."

"How long ago was this?"

"Nearly two years."

"And you've been living rough all this time?"

"Not on the streets. In hostels mainly. Someone told me about one in Coventry so I went there, Then you kind of do the rounds. Go from one to another, trying to avoid the crackheads."

I sat there shaking my head, unable to look at him in the eye.

"And what about now? Are you getting proper treatment?"

"I'm still on my medication. Don't really see any shrinks or anything. I'm staying in this hostel in Digbeth. A young lad in the next bed to me is a _Big Issue_ seller, we got talking and here I am. That's it really. How about you? What have you been up to?"

I laughed. It was all so matter of fact. Like he'd just recounted details of a disappointing holiday instead of his whole life falling apart.

"You don't want to hear about my life."

Colin looked at me over his glasses. "You can start by telling me why you buggered off without so much as a goodbye."

"Ah, that."

"I went in the office one day to ask for you and Edward said you'd gone to Scarborough. I thought he meant on holiday, so I asked when you'd be back. That's when he told me you'd gone for good."

"Sorry. It all happened very quickly. Never even had time for a leaving do."

"What made you leave? Edward didn't seem to know."

I took another sip of water, playing for time as I worked out what to say."

"Oh, just fed up with the boss interfering. A good job came up in the same newspaper group, they needed someone to start quickly and that was it."

Colin looked at me. I wished I wasn't so crap at lying.

"And what about since? How did you end up here?"

A potted history of the last seven years was required. Very matter of fact. In the style of Colin. I took a deep breath.

"Stayed at Scarborough for eighteen months. Moved to the _Sheffield Star_ as a health reporter, promoted to chief reporter last year. Live in Edgbaston with my partner Jacob who is a teacher and a cat called Nelson. That's it. Not very interesting I'm afraid."

"You're happy though?"

I put my glass down. I wasn't expecting that one. Colin never used to do emotions.

"Yeah" I said. "Of course I am."

Colin nodded. His glass was nearly empty. I was about to ask if he wanted another when my mobile rang. It was Jacob wondering where I'd got to. I told him I wouldn't be long.

"I'd better let you go." said Colin, standing up.

"Sorry. I forgot to ring him. He's made dinner. You can come back with me if you like. He always does enough for three."

No, you go on. I'm fine."

"Can I give you a lift home?" I realised as soon as I'd said it. We both laughed. "Sorry. Back to the hostel, I mean."

"No, thanks. It's only a ten-minute walk from here. I'll be fine.

I delved into my briefcase, pulled out my business card and handed it to him.

"If there's anything I can do to help, or you want to meet up again, call me, okay?"

"Thanks," he said with a smile.

"Will you be on the same pitch next week?"

"Hope so"

"I'll see you there then. Save me a copy."

"Will do." Colin waved as I headed out the door. I wondered how long he would stay there, enjoying the company and savouring the last drops of his drink. I had to help him, I knew that. I could never atone for what I'd done to him, but I could at least do everything within my power to make things better for him now.

I buttoned my coat and threw my scarf over my shoulder as I started to walk back towards the car park. That's what happens when you do something bad. You can run and hide for a while but in the end it always catches up with you. Colin was back in my life now, a living, breathing reminder of what the old Bella had done. And on Monday Edward would be there too. Making sure I couldn't possibly forget how bad I'd been.

Or why I'd gone away.

********************************************************************************

**(okay, so this was the chapter I should have posted last time, but only managed to post that freaky little thing. I'm sorry for that so in return I give you two chapters in one. ****Yay! :D:D:D Better give me some goddamn reviews though. I worked my ass off to post this xd)**

"You look nice"  
Shit. Jacob had noticed. Which meant I had gone too far. It wasn't supposed to be obvious, the effort I had put into getting ready that morning. I looked down at my long black skirt. I was only showing a couple of inches of leg but it was a couple of inches more than normal.

"Oh, err, do I? Everything else needed ironing." I hated lying to Jacob like this. Hated the fact that the deceit had started already.

"These could do with a quick press really, but I haven't got time." Jacob brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his trousers. If you stared really hard you could just make out a hint of a crease about half an inch long. He was the only eco-warrior in the world with an ironing fixation.

"I'll see you later then," I said, "After the gym."

"What about breakfast?"

He was doing the caring bit again. It wasn't an act, it was genuine. Which only made it worse. I grabbed a banana from the bowl and shoved it into my briefcase. "I'll have it when I get there." I said, giving him a quick kiss before hurrying out of the door. I felt like I was cheating on him. Which was ridiculous. I was only going to work. As I shut the door behind me I met Shaila, our neighbour, coming down the stairs.

"Hi Bella. You look nice." She said. I was starting to think I must look a real mess most of the time. Shaila was one of those women who always looked stunning without having to try. I suspected she looked great first thing in the morning without any make up. She was dead nice too which made it even worse.

"Oh, thanks," I said. "How are things with Paul?"

"Great." She said, an unfeasible large grin on her face and a faraway look in her eyes. "Still on those heady early days, I guess."

She'd been going out with him just over a month now. They'd met at work. Shaila was something big in accounts at the city council. He was the new guy, something equally big in human resources. I'd met him a few times in the hallway. Suitably dishy and very polite.

"I remember those days," I said, "Best make the most of it. Before you know it you'll be accusing him of stealing the duvet and wearing baggy grey pyjamas instead of your best lingerie to bed."

Shaila laughed. "And Jacob still worships the ground you walk on."

I blushed, knowing it was true.

"So how is he?" she said as we walked down the garden path together, She'd been somewhat in awe of Jacob ever since he'd taken her to the anti-war rally in Chamberlain Square and had to be forcibly removed by a policeman.

"Fine, thanks." I said as we reached our cars. "Busy as ever with all his campaigning. We're just ticking along as ever. Nothing exciting."

Shaila's faraway look returned for a second.

"Don't knock it," she said. "It must be lovely to be so settled like that. Have everything sorted."

"Yeah," I said as I opened the car door. "I guess it is."

"Say hi to him from me," said Shaila. "And don't forget how lucky you are."

I drove to work with her words ringing in my ears.

"Not you as well!" Alice started laughing as soon as I set foot in the office.

"What?" I said stern-faced, as I sat down next to her.

"Notice anything?" she said, gesturing round the room. Every female in the newsroom was wearing a skirt, even those who had not previously been known to own one. Several women who usually wore glasses were either wearing contact lenses or were typing blind. You could practically smell the shampoo from freshly styled hair. In fact, you would have been able to if it wasn't for the array of perfumes blocking it out. At least I hadn't sunk to the depths of Christian Dior.

"So we all made an effort this morning." I said with a shrug.

"What a coincidence," Alice smirked.

"You can talk. That's one of your going out skirts. You wore that last Christmas."

"Yep, but then I have no moral standards. You, I'm surprised at. I would have expected better from you."

She sounded like Mrs Bell, one of my old school teachers. After Philip PArkin had grassed up on me and I had to hand over the dirty joke I'd written on a scrap of paper and was passing around the class.

"Okay, so I put a bloody skirt on. It doesn't mean I want to jump on him the second he arrives."

"Good, because there's a long queue and I'm before you, anyway."

I started laughing. Part of me was desperate to tell her. It was a long time since I'd been the subject of office gossip. Since I'd caused a bit of a stir. But then I remembered what that had led to. So I shut up and got on with my work.

Edward arrived five minutes late on his first day. Something of a record. He was wearing the same suit he'd worn to the interview. And the same look of self assurance. The wedding ring was still absent. I noticed this time. There was a flurry of inactivity as he strolled gracefully up to the news desk. I heard him apologize to Eric, something about the parking. Eric wouldn't like him. I knew that already. Men who were good-looking, charming and intelligent had an unnerving effect on him. He would probably start a rumour what Edward was gay.

Edward turned and started walking towards m. I could tell, even though I wasn't looking. My eyes were firmly fixed on my computer screen.

"Hi, Bella." Two words. That was all it took. Two words and I was sucked into some massive time warp. I was twenty-three again. Not shaking hands with him on my first day. Because he said it was too formal.

I looked up. "Oh, hi." I tried to sound surprised. As if I hadn't realised it was him until that second.

"I don't think I've made a very good impression," he said, nodding towards Eric.

"You should have got here on time, then." I said sharply.

"Thank you for the sympathy."

"No problem. Do you want me to show you your desk? I can hold your hand if you like."

Edward smiled. A smile of recognition. Not of me, the new Bella. But of the old one, who had never quite mastered sarcasm."

"Thanks for the offer, but I think I'll be all right." He bent down and whispered in my ear., "Is the geeky lad at the end my underlining?"

"His name's Andrew," I whispered back. "He may look like a pubescent computer nerd and have the charisma of a weasel but he's a shit-hot political reporter and he'll stab you in the back given half a chance."

"Remind me not to ask anymore questions," he said, still in hushed tones. "Otherwise people will start to talk."

He stood up and walked over to his desk. His smell lingered over me. The gaze of forty pairs of eyes lingered in my back. Alice licked me under the table.

"What was all that about?" she hissed.

"We were arranging to have sex later." I said. She nodded before she realised.

"Piss off," she said, "Being witty doesn't suit you."

Alice went for a job shortly afterwards, leaving only an empty desk between me and Edward. I was aware of him all morning, his presence as acute as his absence had been all those years. He appeared to be busy, although I had no idea what with. A few people went over and introduced themselves. Women mainly. A couple of times I heard him laugh and it made me start. I expected to look up and find myself back in _The Chronicle_ offices. He was out of place or out of time. Or maybe both. I wasn't sure anymore.

I busied myself phoning contacts. Making sure I didn't give hima chance to say anything. I had just finished a phone call when he put a cup of coffee from the machine down in front of me.

"What's this?"

"It's called coffee. It's made from roasted and ground beans. You drink it. Gives you a bit of a buzz."

"Don't try to be funny, Edward. It doesn't work with me."

"It used to,"

I started typing. Not wanting to look at him for fear of what it would do to me.

"I didn't ask for coffee." I said.

"Call me spontaneous,"

"I don't take sugar any more."

"I'll remember that for next time."

"No need, I'll get my own thank you."

The smile faided fromEdward's face. I could tell without looking.

"I'm trying to be civil, Bella. I haven't seen you for seven years. I figured I could get you a coffee."

"Keep your voice down, will you?" I glanced over my shoulder. A couple of people were looking at us.

"Oh, I get it." He said, "Nobody knows, do they?"

"No, and I'd like to keep it that way."

Edward was leaning closer. I could feel his breath, warm on my neck. His voice was trickling into my ear. "Fine. I'll just pretend you're some bitter, twisted hack who delights in being horrible to the new guy."

"I didn't ask for it to happen, you know. I was doing perfectly well without you."

"I'll go then, shall I? Hand in my notice today. Or better still do a runner. Disappear overnight. Leave you to explain away my sudden exit."

I started typing the first few lines of my column. 'Writing Wrongs' it was called. Ass I knew was that I couldn't stop. He stood there for a few seconds. Waiting for something that didn't come. Then he returned silently to his desk. I let the coffee go cold.

*************

Edward went out on a job in the afternoon. The Council House, I presumed. I didn't ask. When the final edition of the paper came, I flicked through; just the usual crap, nothing unusual. Until I got to page five and saw his name above a story. It was 'Edward Culen'. A name I did not recognise. I went up to the chief sub with the page in my hand.

"What happened to the 'l' in his byline? I asked.

"There isn't one. That's what he told us. Poncey Southerner."

I walked back to my desk. A lot had changed in seven years.

****

I drove straight to the gym after work. I needed a breathing space before I went home to Jacob. Needed to get Edward out of my system, to sweat him out through my pores if necessary. I liked the anonymity here, Row after row of cross trainers, steppers and exercise bikes facing the huge screens piping MTV. You didn't have to talk to anyone, you simply stared straight ahead like a blinkered racehorse, ready to jolt into action at the press of a button. The treadmills were even better, facing the huge window which ran along one side of the gym. You could jog along watching the Birmingham rush hour traffic grind to a halt below. Feeling suitably smug that you were working out while they were stuck in a traffic jam getting stressed, chain-smoking and eating any half melted, out-of-date chocolate bar they could lay their hands on.

I changed into my gym clothes. Lycra shorts and vest tops were de rigueur here. It was a gym for fit people. For people who wore the right trainers, carried the right water bottle. Jacob, who had only been here once, said it was like an experiment in human cloning by a dictator trying to create a master race. He declined to join on the grounds that he would rather be kept as a battery hen than lined up with a bunch of others on a treadmill. But then he was one of those annoying naturally fit people who didn't even have to try.

The cool air hit me as I walked into the gym, made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I started doing my warm-up, stretching my hamstrings and my quads, It was important to do these things properly. I had a set routine, one that had been mapped out for my by a personal trainer. Not a personal trainer like Madonna has, One that spends thirty minutes with you every month in order to assess your needs and devise a routine to target your 'problem areas' ( a code for cellulite). They were invariably called Emma or Matt, had an NVQ in leisure something and had left to become a Pilates instructor on go scuba diving by the next time you went.

I stuck to it, though. Whatever routine they gave me. And I went at least three times a week. So that when the instructor signed my card at the end of the session, I never had to think up excuses as to why I hadn't been for a month.

I started on the treadmill. I liked the sound of my feet pounding below. Of the urgency it created. The sense of being unable to top, of having to keep up, to push yourself, to avoid being caught. I stared out of the window. Headlights snaked back up the road as far as I could see, plumes of exhaust fumes caught in their glare. I let my eyes become unfocused, allowing everything to blur as I bounced up and down. I wanted to run for ever. To put real distance between un again. But it was no use. I was running at standstill. I knew that now.

The treadmill slowed down. I obliged and dropped into a jog, then a brisk walk before gliding to a halt. I stepped off the back, took a swig from my water bottle and picked up my towel. I didn't need to check where I was going next: it was programmed into my head already. The orfer of each piece of equipment, what program number or weight, how long or how many repetitions. It was all in there; I was on automatic pilot. The troublesome, thinking part of my brain switched off.

I headed for the pull-down bar. The man on it was wearing a grey vest top. A dark circle of swear was spreading from the centre of his back. The weights clinked each time he let the bar back up and I heard him inhale as he pulled it down. He looked a bit like Edward from behind. I glanced quickly around the gym. Half the men there looked a bit like Edward. Broad shoulders, toned bodies. Came with the territory. I was being ridiculous.

The man got up, picked his towel off the seat and turned around. It was Edward. My freshly-warmed muscles tensed again. I hadn't got used to the idea that I was working with him again yet, let alone the possibility of bumping into him around town. Though judging by the expression on his face, he was even more surprised to see me.

"Hello," he said, "I thought you hated gyms?"

"That was a long time ago. Before I hit thirty. I now consider them a necessary evil."

He smiled, shook his head and rubbed himself down with the towel. I tried to keep looking at his face. But my gaze fell to his vest.

"How are you spelling Nike these days?" I said.

He looked at me, raising an eyebrow, waiting for me to continue.

"Only I wondered if you'd dropped the 'k' from that. That's probably the trendy way to spell it down in London."

He smiled again. "If you're not careful Bella, you could find that sense of humour you used to have."

"So come on, why drop the 'l' on your byline?"

Edward draped the towel around his neck and sighed. "A sub in the _Express_ did it by mistake. Someone said it looked better so I decided to stick with it."

I wondered if the someone was Tanya but didn't like to ask.

"You've been branded a poncey southerner at work."

Edward laughed. "I don't give a fuck."

He was taking everything I threw at him with a good-natured smile. Which made it worse, because I suspected my verbal tirade, brought on by seven years of pent-up anger, was intended to provoke a reaction.

"Are you still spelling fuck with the c in it or not?"

He smiled again, although it was a weak joke. "So are you going to stand there and abuse me or can we actually sit down and have a proper chat now we're not at work?"

He had me on the back foot now, not knowing what to say. I was torn. Part of me wanted desperately to satisfy my curiosity. But I also knew I shouldn't pick at scabs. In case you made them bleed again.

"I'm in the middle of a workout," I said, sitting down on the bench. It wasn't a refusal. At best it was non-committal.

"Okay, when you're finished then." I'll see you in the bar in about forty minutes," he went to walk away then turned back again. "You're looking good, by the way. Shame about the curls though. I used to love your long hair."  
I took a dep breath and pulled the bar above me. Nothing happened. Edward stifled a laugh.

"I think you'll find that's a bit heavy for you," he said, "Might have to change the weights."  
it was a second or two before I realised I was laughing and managed to stop myself. I shouldn't encourage any further contact.

Or let him get me. I devised myself a new gym routine which consisted solely on maintaining the maximum distance possible between Edward and me. I gave up after twenty minutes and went to have a shower, thinking about the conversation that was about to happen.

**EVERYBODY GIVE ME A WHOOP WHOOP!This was an extra-long chapter, or in other words, me asking for forginess. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW! it makes my day to know what all you think about it and stuff. I only say this because I've noticed i've been getting less and less reviews from last chapters and it's not very encouraging, you know? Love you anyway ppl :D:D:D:D:D:D:D:D**

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**-_Angel on Air_**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: I know this chapter is really short and stuff but since you all seemed so desperate for te conversation *eyebrows*... I decided to get it posted as quick as possible. Especially as I might not post next chapter in a little while :'( Sawwyy,, but school sucks. Anyway, hope you like it, did is 'She's got a boyfriend now' by Boys Like Girls! Enjoy :D**

**LETS GET READING!**

She's got a boyfriend now

BPOV  
2008

Edward was already in the bar when I got there. Sitting on a stool with a bottle of Becks in his hand.  
"I got one in for you too," he said, pointing to a glass of what I suspected was vodka and orange.

"I don't drink anymore," I said.

He turned around to look at me. His hair was still wet from the shower. He smelt of something musky.

"Why not?"

"I just don't."  
Can I get you something else?"

"No thanks. I can't stop long."

"Got plans, have you?"

"Sort of."

He nodded. I climbed up on the stool beside him. We sat in silence for a moment. Neither of us seemed to know where to start.

"Why did you leave, Bella?" he said eventually.

"You know why."

"You could have said goodbye. Or left a note."

"Yeah, I could have pinned it to your front door, couldn't I? Tanya would have loved that."  
He appeared taken aback by the bitterness of my voice.

"I thought…we could still be friends."

"Well you thought wrong."

He shook is head. If I didn't know better I would have said he looked hurt.

"Please, Bella. I thought we could catch up on each other's lives. Fill in the gaps of what we've missed."  
I shrugged, feigning indifference. I didn't want to let on. That I had thought about him every single day since. Wondered what he was doing. Who he was doing it with. I had to find a way round this.

"Okay," I said. "Five questions each. Only who, what, why, where and whens allowed. You go first."

Edward smiled. I knew it would appeal to the journalist inside him. He took a swig from the bottle.

"Why Scarborough?" he said.

I hesitated before answering.

"I fancied walking home along the beach."

"How often did you do that?"

"That's a waste of a question."

"Answer please," said Edward.

"Twice."

He nodded, the edges of his mouth creeping up into a smile. "What else have you stopped doing since I last saw you? Apart from drinking and taking sugar in your coffee."

I thought for a moment, It was hard to know where to begin. I decided to give an edited version.

"Okay. I've stopped eating bacon butties, voting Labour and flying."

"Why?"

"These really are stupid questions." I said.

"My choice. You just answer. Why?"

"I don't eat meat because I've gone veggie, I don't vote Labour because of the Iraq war and I don't fly because of my boyfriend's concern of the environment."

Edward hesitated and scratched his head. I wondered if it was the word boyfriend which had thrown him.

"So your boyfriend's one of those lentil-munching, sandal-wearing eco-warrior types."

"That's your sixth question."

"It wasn't a question. It was an observation. Your go."

I was rattled. He'd found out more than I'd wanted him to. And he now had an image of Jacob as some kind of Swampy figure. I wanted to point out that just because he was a fully-paid up member of the Green Party it didn't mean he had a personal hygiene problem. I needed to score a few points of my own. I was desperate to ask about Tanya. But I didn't want to make it so obvious. Better to go in with something work related and build up to it.  
"How long did you stay at _The Chronicle_ ?"

"Four months. Boring question."

"Why did you leave?"

"It wasn't the same without you. It was like someone had witched off the lights."

"Why can't you ever be serious?"

"I was being serious."

I looked down. Anything to avoid looking at him. He didn't have any socks on. Just trainers. Jacob said it was bad for your feet not to have socks on. Encouraged athlete's foot, he said. I couldn't stop myself from asking the question any longer.

"Why don't you wear your wearing ring?"  
Edward looked down at his feet. "We got divorced a year ago."

"Oh, sorry." I said. I wasn't sure if I meant it or not. My insides were churning. It meant he was available. Unless he was seeing someone else. I was trying to think of a way of asking without being too obvious when my mobile rang."

"Excuse me." I said pulling it out of the side pocket of my bag. It was Jacob, asking what I wanted for tea. I told him fajitas. Then regretted it immediately.  
"Is your boyfriend Jamie Oliver?" asked Edward.

"It's not your turn."

"I know. You've got one left."

"Why did you come to Birmingham? Really?"

Edward looked up for a second, swirled the last dregs of his Becks around in the bottle, "The truth?"  
"Preferably." I said.

"To see you."

I dropped my mobile on the floor. Edward bent down to pick it up. I stared at him as he handed it back to me. My brain was in danger of overheating.

"You knew I was here?" I said.

He nodded. "I looked you up on Google- And I figured you were more likely to be a reporter on the _Birmingham Evening Gazette_ than a teenage girl in a book falling in love with a vampire or a recently deceased classical guitarist."

I was unsure whether to be flattered or horrified. I certainly wasn't going to admit that I'd trawled through most of the eighty four thousand entried for Edward Cullen.

"So why did you act surprised when you saw me at your interview?"

"I didn't know you were going to be there with Emmet, did I? I had no idea you were the Gordon Brown of the _Gazette_, the power behind the throne."

I shook my head. "It's not like that. Emmet trusts my judgement, that's all."

"So how come I got the job?" Edward said with a smile.

I wasn't going to be drawn. I knew this was silly. I was ignoring the bigger question. The obvious one that was hanging over my head in a speech bubble, wondering how long it would be till I asked.

"Why did you want to see me?" I said, relenting under the pressure.

Edward paused, took another swig from his bottle.

"Because I've missed you," he said, "And because I wanted to know if you were happy."

I looked down, hoping Edward wouldn't see me swallowing hard, trying to remain composed. Realising that I wouldn't be able to answer without breaking down in tears.

I've got to go," I said softly. I slithered off the stool and hurried out of the bar. I sat in the car for several minutes before I started the engine. Taking deep breaths and waiting until the world stopped looking blurry.

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**Angel on Air.**


	21. Chapter 21

***Peeks from behind update*... Okay I know I'vebeen a real cow to all of you, and I know you have every right to swear, shriek, shout, make voo doo dolls or any other type of harm at me, but I really am sorry. I haven't updated ina month, and I know it's a reallylong time but you must understand, I have been suffering the biggest writer's block ever. Forgive me? please? Pretty please? **

Chapter 21: Broken man

"He's a good operator, isn't he?" Emmet looked up from the front page of last night's paper. 'School chief's own goal' by Edward Culen. Something about Councillor O'Connell's taxpayer funded fact-finding mission to tour schools in Sweden. Which just happened to coincide with an Ireland football match in Stockholm. I hadn't read all of it. Just enough to know it was good.

"I guess so."

Emmet looked at me quizzically. "You're not jealous, are you? Bit of competition for the splash."

I gave Emmet one of my looks of utter contempt. "It's not difficult, is it? Coming with some dirt about that lot."

"Parker never used to do it."

"Yeah well. I always told you he was a waste of space."

"So what's Edward done to upset you?

"Who said he had?"

"I just saw you walk straight pass him without so much as a hello. I don't think you've said more than a dozen words to him in the past fortnight."

I hadn't realised it was that obvious. My avoiding Edward.

"We don't hit off, that's all."

"But he seems such a nice bloke. And he's got your sense of humour. I'd have thought you'd be great pals."

"Well, we're not. I talk to him if I need to. For work."

Emmet pulled a face and pushed the copy of the _Gazette_ to the far side of his desk. "Okay, suit yourself. As long as no one's upsetting my happy ship."

Emmet always talks like this. I suppose it was sweet of him really. Wanting us all blissfully happy. A it weird though, for a newspaper editor. Sometimes I felt like telling him he was supposed to be a ball-crunching bastard. But then again, it really wouldn't suit him.

"So, why did you want to see me?" I said, keen to change the subject.

Emmet scratched his head. I could see bad news coming.

"The district offices reckon we could do without a couple of them?" he said.

"I thought you were going to fight this?"

"Head office are putting a lot of pressure on. I've got to find some savings from editorial."

"Well, you could get rid of Sonia, for a start."

Sonia was our copy-taker. Unfortunately her spelling was atrocious, she was incredibly dense, had no knowledge or interest in news or any current affairs and gave a running commentary of nonsense as you filed your story over the phone. All the attributes needed for the job, really.

"She's not as bad as you make out," Emmet said. He had taken her on as part of the youth opportunities programme yeas ago and didn't have the heart to get rid of her despite a catalogue of blunders.

"I take it you haven't heard what she did yesterday, then?" I said.

Emmet shook his head.

"Trevor filed a story from the press conference at Birmingham Eye Hospital? Only Sonia wrote Birmingham I hospital. Fortunately news desk spotted it.

Emmet started chuckling.

"You won't be laughing when she costs you a fortune one of these days" I said, "We'd be better off without her."

"Sonia doesn't earn enough to make it worthwhile getting rid of her." Said Emmet, "I've got to do better than that,"

I was getting frustrated with him now. I got up and started pacing up and down. "We can back you up if you want. As soon as this is out in the open the union can do a letter about protecting editorial quality. We could threaten to ballot on industrial action."

"No! That'd make things worse."

"And closing the district offices wouldn't? You know what they're like. They're doing this all over the country. We've only been saved so far because we're the flagship paper. Once they think they can get away with it here, they won't know when to stop.

I realised I sounded like Edward. Or how he used to sound at any rate. I threw up my arms and turned around to face the newsroom. Alice was holding up my phone, gesturing wildly.

"I'd better go," I said. "But think about what I said."

I hurried over to my desk. Alice handed me the receiver.

"Who is it?"

"No one," she sad. "Looked like you needed rescuing. Do you fancy lunch in a bit?"

"Haven't got time." I said, pretending to talk for a bit in case Emmet was watching, before putting the phone down. "I'm nipping into town for sandwich. I've got a job at one. Some guy who reckons he was thrown out of a psychiatric unit when he threatened to blow the whistle on their abuse."

"How can you believe him if he's wacko?"

Alice still hadn't managed the act of political correctness.

"He has mental health problems. It doesn't mean he can't tell the truth."

I was thinking of _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest_. Hoping to expose a modern-day Big Nurse and liberate the inmates. Hoping to liberate the inmates. Hopping my sources would turn out to be a McMurphy-type hero.

"Fine," said Alice. "I shall dine on my own."

"I'm up for lunch in about ten minutes, if you want."

It was Edward's voice. I hadn't realised he had been listening. I looked across at him. He was smiling at Alice. I wondered if he was doing this to get me.

"Great," said Alice. "Give me a shout when you're ready, Edward."

The light freckles on her face rearranged themselves into the word 'smug'. I rolled my eyes and picked up my briefcase.

"See you later, then" I said to her, firing a warning look which I suspected she would ignore.

" I took deep breaths as I walked into town. I was sure Edward would pump her for information about me. And Alice wasn't exactly known for being discreet. I hated him for doing this to me. Putting me on the edge. Making me feel I was losing control again. I told myself not to think about it. To think about something else. Colin, for instance. HE hadn't been on his usual pitch last Friday. A young woman had been standing in his place. I had asked where he was and she hadn't known. He could have caught a chill after the previous week. I hoped it wasn't anything more serious than that. A relapse of some kind.

I bowled down the road, peering to see between all the people. I could just make out a hunched figure on the corner. Then a glimpse of tufty hair and a glint of sunlight on glasses. It was Colin. He was all right. Except that he wasn't, though. When I got up close I could see that. Purple and black circles under his left eye, a cut above his eyebrow and Sellotape round one arm of his glasses. I felt sick in the pit of my stomach. I wanted to lie him down and tend his wounds, like some modern Florence Nightingale. I had put him on the streets. I was supposed to be trying to make things better, But it kept on getting worse,

"Colin, you poor thing."  
I watched him wince in pain as he turned towards me.

"Oh, Bella, hi."

"Are you okay? What on earth happened?"

"It's nothing. Got worse things in the school playground."  
"You went to a pretty tough school then. Those bruises look terrible. Have you seen a doctor?"

"There0sno need. I'm fine."

"What happened?"

"It doesn't matter. It's all done and dusted."

"What happened, Colin?" I said again, my tone of voice demanding a better answer.

"Are you Jeremy Paxman, or something?"

"You won't avoid this by being funny either."

Colin gave a resigned sigh. "Group of lads took exception on me. Called me a dirty beggar. Said I should climb back into my hole and stop messing up their streets. Then they laid into me and took my money. About nine quid."

"Didn't anyone help you?"

"No one much about. Few that were walked past with their heads down. Didn't want to get involved. Can't say I blame them."

"What did the police say?"

Colin raised his eyebrows above the rim of his glasses.

"Come on, they're not going to be interested in someone like me, are they? Probably accuse me of starting the whole thing, complain to the _Big Issue_ and then I'd get my badge taken away."

He had a point. I wanted to offer to sort it out for him. To run the story in the paper, expose the shocking level of violence against homeless people on our streets. But I knew most of our readers would probably think he deserved it. If the gang had kicked a stray cat, they'd be outraged. Inundate us with letters expressing their sympathy for the creature, offer to give it a home. But a homeless man with a history of mental illness? Not a chance.

"Oh Colin. I'm so sorry. You really do deserve a break."  
He shrugged. I tried to think of something to say to cheer him up, make him feel human again.

"By the way, you're invited round for dinner tonight." I said as I handed my $1.20.

"Because you feel sorry for me?" he said.

"No. Because you're an old friend and you're more interesting company than most people I know."  
Colin smiled and handed me a copy of _Big Issue _with Ms Dynamite on thefront.

"Are you sure your boyfriend won't mind?"

"Of course not, it was his idea. He wants to meet you."  
This was a lie. I hadn't told Jacob about Colin. Mainly because Colin was inextricably linked with Edward in my head. I was worried that if I tried to explain about Colin, Edward's name would slip out. Plus, talking about Colin made feel guilty and Jacob wasn't used to see me looking guilt. He wouldn't know it was guilt, he might even think it was indigestion, but he would definitely suspect something was wrong.

"Thanks, then. I'd love to come."

I offered to pick him up after work but he wouldn't have it. Said he would come by bus. It would seem like a real night out. As soon as I was out of his sight, I rang Jacob on my mobile.

"Hello?" I could hardly hear him above the hubbub of the staff room. Some sort of meeting appeared to be going on.

"Hi, it's me. I know this is very short notice but is it okay if I invite a couple of friends round for dinner tonight?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Anyone I know?"

"Alice and a chap called Colin."

"Is he her latest?" There was a disapproving tone in Jacob's voice.

"No, he's a friend of mine. Bumped into him in the street, he's having a rough time. I'll explain later. Just a quick curry, don't go to any trouble. I'll get some bhajis or something from Tesco on the way home."

"Sure, see you later." He said. "I'd better go. Love you."

I felt bad after he hung up. Aware that I sometimes took his good nature for granted.

I bought my sandwich and hurried back to meet our photographer Carlisle in the car park behind the _Gazette_ as arranged.

"I hope this isn't another one of your time-wasters, Swan," he said as he edged his car gingerly between a line of newspaper delivery vans. Carlisle was the biggest whinger in photographic but for some unknown reason I had a soft spot for him.

"What do you mean?"

He pointed to the crumpled photo request slip on the dashboard. "The name Mr. Bear makes me a little suspicious." He said, running a hand through his blond hair.

"The guy can't help having a funny name. You could have been born Mr. Lillicrap, then you'd have had something to complain about."  
I ate my sandwich as Carlisle launched himself into his usual diatribe against the gazette. The pay, the hours, the crap cameras (never will be as good as using film), the stupid computers that won't do what you want them to, the trainees who think they know it all, the ignorant security word and wanker from advertising who kept nicking his parking place.

I'd learnt not to say anything. Simply to nod and maybe offer the occasional grunt. Once he was finished with that he moved on to the second half of his story. The 'Of course, it used to be much better in the old days, when I was working on a real newspaper. Did I ever tell you about that time in Vietnam when…' he had told me, of course. But the story was embellished a little every time, so it was worth listening to. We were nearing the end of it now. The bit where he said. 'If I were you, Bella, I'd get out while you can. Don't tell anybody, but I'm looking around. This time next year, I'll be gone, you know.'

I nodded like I always did. Knowing that he'd been looking around for the last fifteen years.

Mr Bear's flat was in a tatty road in Winson Green. Polystyrene fast food containers strewn across the pavement, a couple of dogs strutting down the street looking for trouble, bits if fridges and bicycles dumped in front gardens, trying desperately to look like an 'urban garden' exhibit at the Chelsea Flower Show.

I strode up to the door and rang the bell. Carlisle was cowering halfway down the path in case Mr Bear had a dog. He was scared of dogs, even little ones. He once legged it over a fence when yapped at by a one-eyed terrier.

Several minutes went past. I rang the bell again. I was about to leave when I hear a scuffling noise. A moment later the door opened a couple of inches and a man's face appeared above the door chain. He had dark, piggish eyes and a shock of reddish hair.

"You'd better come in." he said.

I gestures to Carlisle, who followed me into the hallway. It was decorated with flock wallpaper which looked as if it had been up since the seventies. Mr Bear, who was wearing a red polo-neck, looked at us expectantly.

"I need to interview you properly, go through exactly what happened." I explained.

He nodded and led us into a large room at the end of the hall. The carpet had purple and orange swirls on it. It smelt of the seventies. The room was full of chairs of every shape, size and colour imaginable, the sort of odd collection which would usually only be found in doctor' waiting rooms. They were arranged in five rows, each containing six or seven chairs, all facing in the same direction, like pews in a church. At the far end of the room was the object of worship. Dominating the wall, at least five foot high, was a portrait of Shirley Bassey.

I looked at Carlisle. Carlisle looked at me. It was too latenow, we were here. We had to see it through. We sat down on the front row. Mr Bear did the same, bowing to Shirley as he did so.

"You're obviously a big fan," I said, nodding towards the portrait.

"I write to her most weeks." Said Mr Bear, "She's very appreciative of my support.

"Good," I said, hearing Carlisle groan behind me. "Now, about your allegations. I need to take some details from you. Let's start at the beginning. What's your full name?"

"Rupert Bear," he said.

I looked at him, hoping he was joking.

"I changed my name by deed poll ten years ago." He said, by way of explanation. "I can get you the letters if you'd like to see the proof."

"No, it's okay., I believe you."

Carlisle's head was now on his hands. Obviously he was remembering happier times in Vietnam.

It was gone two by the time we got away. I had about twenty pages of shorthand in my notebook. The story was a good one. Detailed descriptions of the abuse he and others had suffered in the psychiatric unit. Terrible things, people being tied up and left in cupboards, having excrement smeared in the walls of their rooms, forced to lap soup of a bowl like a dog. He gave me dates and times when these things happened. Names and descriptions of all the staff involved. He even produces copies of letters he'd went to the health authorities and Clare Short, his local MP. But the spectre of Shirley loomed large over the whole thing. Should I believe a man called Rupert Bear who worships the woman who sang 'Goldfinger'?

When I got back to the office Alice and Edward were sharing a joke. They seemed to be getting on exceptionally well, so well Alice didn't even look up when I sat down. I wanted to ask her how lunch had gone, find out what they'd talked about, but I couldn't in front of Edward. I didn't want to let on that I cared, I didn't even want to invite her to dinner within earshot of him, so I sent her an e-mail instead.

SUBJECT: Dinner tonight

Dear Alice

You are formally invited to dinner at out place tonight, seven-thirty. If you value your health (which I doubt) or your Abba collection (I know where you live) you will not refuse. I want a full report on your lunchtime rendezvous with Mr Cullen delivered to me discreetly at opportune moments during this evening. The other guest will be Colin, the Big Issue seller. You will be nice to him and not make jokes about standing on street corners or soup kitchens.

Regards

Bella

She muttered a few expletives under her breath as she read it. The reply came back swiftly.

SUBJECT: Free grub

Belz

Will come only 4 J's cooking. Will tell U f-all without bribes. You'd btter not b fixing me up with beggar man.

Laters

Alice

Xxx

She knew I hated the abbreviations. Texting took me forever because I refused to miss out any letters. And as for Belz and J, she really knew how to twist the knife. I put a call in to Clare Short's office. I tried to speak in a very quiet voice. Said it was about a Mr Rupert Bear.

Alice nearly choked on her coffee. Beyond her I could see Edward trying to stifle a laugh.

"Tell me that's not his real name," Alice said the moment I finished the call.

"Afraid it is. Changed it by deed poll."

"I'll get some more coffees in," Alice was wiping the tears from her eyes. "I've spilt half of mine laughing."

Halfway to the coffee machine she stopped and turned around.

"Bella, you're wanted in reception," she shouted. I picked up my notebook and stood up.

"A Mrs. Jemima Puddleduck, for you," she called out. "I'd watch it, it's a bit wet down there."

"Thank you Alice," I called back, tossing my notebook on my desk as I sat down again. Edward was laughing out loud now. I shot him a look.

"What's the matter?" he said, "You used to laugh at my wind-ups,"

"It's not that funny."

"Maybe you've just lost your sense of humour," he said.

I stared at my notebook for a long time. Thinking about what he'd said.

***************

Jacob was in the kitchen when I got home. The rasping voice of Ozzy Osbourne and the smell of burning onions rushed to greet me as I opened the door. Controlled burning, not my kind of burning. Jacob said it was the key to getting the depth of flavour. He gave me a floury hug and a kiss which tasted like onions. I took off my coat and asked what I could do to hep. Jacob laughed.

"What you usually do," he said. "Stay out of my way."

"At least let me start on the washing up," I said, slipping on the Marigolds. "I want to do something to help, they are my guests after all. Are you sure you're okay about this? I know I sprang it on you."  
"It's fine," he said, "I'm glad of the distraction, to be honest. It's been a difficult day."

"Oh, why?"

"You know that year ten lad I told you about, Daniel, the…sensitive one?"

I nodded as I scrubbed the chopping board, though I couldn't actually remember. Jacob was always talking about various kids he taught.

"He came to see me at lunchtime. Said he's being bullied. Nothing physical, mostly name-calling, all the usual homophobic stuff."  
"And what did you do?"

"Nothing. When I offered to have a word with the culprits he got really upset said it would only encourage them. And that he only wanted to talk."

"Not much, you can do then, is there?"

"Not really. Makes it hard, though. By rights I should tell the head, get it on record. But he made me promise not to."  
I turned to face Jacob. I would have given him a hug but I didn't want to get suds on him.

"Hey, at least he knows he can talk to you. Must be a big help for him, sharing it with someone."

"I guess so," he said.

"All you can do is keep an eye on things and be there if he wants to talk. With any luck it will all fizzle out by Christmas."

"Yeah. You're right. Thanks," he sounded brighter. Sometimes he simply needed reassurance that he was doing the right thing. The fact that he should seek it from me was almost ironic.

"So, who's this Colin guy?" asked Jacob, understandably keen to change the subject. I sighed. There was only one way to explain.

"You don't happen to remember a story about a Labour candidate who lost by one vote in the 2001 general election, do you?" I asked.

He thought for a moment. There was a hiss as he added some stock to the pan.

"Yeah…I think I do." He said. "A Labour guy you said?"

I nodded, the guilt prodding me from inside. "That's him. That's who's coming to dinner. Only now he is a _Big Issue _seller.

"Bloody hell," said Jacob, pouring the rest of the stock in. "What happened to him?"

I related a carefully edited version of the story. Making sure to keep my own role hidden. A warning that Colin looked like he'd gone three rounds with Mike Tyson.

"Poor guy," he said when I'd finished.

"Yeah, scary really. Could have been any of us."

"Well, no. Not really."

"Why not?" I said, taking off the Marigolds and starting to dry.

"We'd never have got ourselves into that mess in the first place, would we?"

"Things can happen, Jacob. Things that out of our control"

"Yeah, but you can always do something about it. Find a way to put things right."

"It's not always as easy as that."

"I don't see why not."

I started to say something but stopped myself. Sometimes his innocence, his innate goodness, overwhelmed me.

Colin arrived first. He was wearing a moth-eaten jumper and crumpled trousers. Jacob shook hands with him.

"I hear you're a _Big Issue_ seller. That must be interesting"

"It has its moments," said Colin, turning to look at me. I thought of showing Colin around the flat but decided against it, fearing it would be like showing your baby photos to a childless couple undergoing IVF.

"If I remember rightly, I think you two have got something in common," I said. "Two Aston Villa supporters in the same room. Must be something of a record."

"Ignore her," said Jacob, turning to Colin, "She doesn't have claret and blue in her blood.

"Not like me, then," he replied, "Lifelong fan, I am. Used to go to all the games. I was there in Rotterdam in '82 when our Dennis lifted the European Cup."

A look of wonder spread across Jacob's features. Dawn had let him go to a few home matches with a school friend and his father in a bid to encourage some male bonding, which she feared was missing from his life. But as soon as he'd got serious about the Villa she'd put a stop to it, saying the terraces were full of hooligans and racists. He'd had to go to his friend's house to watch the European Cup Final in secret. Telling her he'd been invited to stay the night. He'd whispered as he'd told me the story. As if he was still scared she might find out.

"Wow, that must have been fantastic," he said, sounding like he was nine years old again. "Seeing Withey, Sid Cowans, all those great players."

"Yeah. Run rings round today's team, they would," said Colin.

"You can say that again. Where do you sit these days, down the Holte end?"

"No, I, err, don't go any more," Colin said diplomatically.

Jacob clasped his hand over his mouth as he realised. "Of course not, sorry, stupid questions. The prices are ridiculous these days. Scandalous. I hardly ever go myself."  
This was true. But as much to do with home matches clashing with some protest meeting or another as the ticket prices. He still carried the fixture list around with him, though. Which was sweet but kind of sad.

There was a knock at the door.

"Hi, sorry I'm late," Alice said, peeling a very New Age multicoloured jacket off and draping it over the coat stand.

"Alice, this is Colin," I said.

"Hi," she said, "I remember you getting beaten by that fat Tory tosser in the 2001 election. He didn't do that to you as well, did he?" She pointed at the bruises on his face.

There was a moments silence before Colin started laughing. I breathed a sigh of relief. Her lack of diplomacy was made up for by her ability to break the tension in every room. I led them to the living room. Wr all squashed around the table, knees touching, and tucked into the pile of bhajis and samosas.

"So," said Alice, turning to look at me as she whipped some yoghurt and mint sauce from her chin. "Have you told them about the adventures of Rupert Bear?"

"What's this?" Jacob asked.

"Oh, just some guy I interviewed today. I'm investigating his claims about the abuse at a psychiatric unit."

"Only he's such a fruitloop that he changed his name to _Rupert Bear_" chipped in Alice.

I looked at Colin, worried that he might have taken offence, but he clearly hadn't.

"A few people I met when I was in the psychiatric unit had changed their names to something famous," he said.

Alice stopped eating for a second and looked at him, a trace of a blush in her pale cheeks. "So why do you think they did that?" she asked.

" I guess it was a way of escaping from reality." Said Colin, "They could pretend to be someone else."

"What would you change yours to, then?" she asked, "If you could be anyone else."

Colin thought for a moment as he munched a samosa.

"Sebastiao Salgado," he said.

"Who's he?" asked Alice.

" A photographer. An artist really. Paints pictures with light. Takes black and white photos of ordinary people doing ordinary things."

" I never knew you were interested in photography," I said.

"Yeah," he said, "Ever since I was a kid. I wanted to go to college and study it but my mum said I should get a proper job. I used to do bits and pieces as a hobby. Haven't done anything in years, I'm afraid." He looked sad for a moment. It was obviously a big regret. Along with all the others he must have."

"Oh, but you must start taking photos again," Jacob exclaimed, "It's great to have an interest like that."

"I would, only I haven't got a camera."

"No, no of course not." Jacob said.

I realised with a start that I could help there. I may not be able to get him back his home, his wife of his job but I could surely manage to get him a camera. I'd have a word with Carlisle at work on Monday.

"I'll go and dish up the curry," Jacob said.

"No, no, it's all right," I said, jumping to my feet as I realised it was a good occasion to grill Alice, "I'll do it and Alice can give me a hand. You have a chat with Colin about the Villa. Get him to tell you some stories about the old days."

I gathered the dirty plates, scraping them noisily as I stacked, and hurried out to the kitchen, Alice trailing behind.

"So, what exactly do you need me for?" asked Alice as I drained the rice and spread it between the four plates.

"The dirt on your lunch date."

"It wasn't a date."

"You seemed to be getting on very we when I got back."

"He's good company," said Alice, "It's weird. Usually you pay for looks like that. Have o put up with a lousy personality. But he's witty and charming. He even insisted on paying."

"So, did he come on to you?" I said as I scraped out the rice pan and started distributing the curry in even dollops, making sure everyone had enough chick peas.

"No, he was the perfect gentleman. Didn't lay a finger on me, not even a quick grope under the table. Very disappointing. Especially as he spent most of the time asking about you."

I dropped a spoonful of curry on to the floor. I dashed to get a cloth, hoping Alice wouldn't notice my shaking hands as I wiped the tiles. It was all spilling over, bubbling up and making a mess. The past I'd thought I' put behind me. Colin was in my living room, battered and bruised physically and mentally as a result of what I'd done. And now Edward was back, asking questions. Perhaps already having given the game away.

"Oh," I said, trying to sound surprised. "What sort of questions?"

Mainly about your love life. He wanted to know how long you'd been with Jacob, what he did, what you got up to in your spare time."

"So what did you answer?"

"That you'd only known each other a month, you'd met on some internet chat line, Jacob works for an escort agency and you enjoyed going to S and M partied together."

I gave Alice one of my looks.

"Well, what do you think I said?"

I never know with you, that's the problem."  
Alice sighed. "I told him the truth, that you enjoy saving the planet together in your spare time and that the pair of you are blissfully happy." Is that okay?"

I nodded. Although I wasn't at all sure it was. Maybe I'd wanted Alice to leave some element of doubt. Say something to make him wonder if I was worth pursuing. Though if that was the case I was in trouble. Because I ought to have learnt my lesson. That I shouldn't play with fire. Or even be left alone with matches.

"And now perhaps you can tell me why Edward's so interested in you," said Alice.

**O-kaaaaaaaaaaay so... time for more begging... REVIEW! Please? REVIEW!!!!!!! :D:D:DD: I love to know what you think about it!! Plus-- I promise a sneek peek of next chapter to anyone who does...oh, and cibber-muffins! Yay!!**

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**-_Angel on Air_**


	22. Chapter 22

**AN Hey people! I'm back! And this time it only took me 3 days! *does little munchkin dance* Anyways, I hoped you liked last chapter, and that you can all forgive me for my little gap between updates from last time. heheehhe. Also, thank all of you who gave me reviews and/or gave it story alerts, favourites, etc etc. Oh, and also, I have decided I'm not going to do an EPOV after all. I might do something when I finish the whole story...but I don't know, heheheh. And BTW,Rosalie is VERY OCC in this story. Not trying to have a go at anyone, though ;) **

**lets get reading! :D**

Chapter 22: Hymn to the silence

I nodded. Although I wasn't at all sure it was. Maybe I'd wanted Alice to leave some element of doubt. Say something to make him wonder if I was worth pursuing. Though if that was the case I was in trouble. Because I ought to have learnt my lesson. That I shouldn't play with fire. Or even be left alone with matches.

"And now perhaps you can't tell me why Edward's so interested in you." Said Alice.

I froze a plate of curry in each hand. DI Thorneycroft had me cornered. I was her prime suspect. But couldn't let her get anywhere near the truth. Because I was scared that if even if a tiny bit of it came out, the whole thing would unravel.

"I don't know." I shrugged, "He's probably just trying to get some ammunition to wind me up with. He'll be taking the piss on Monday, you see."

Alice looked at me doubtfully. "Nah. He fancies you, I can tell."

"Whatever," I said, "I'm not interested. Now, come on, the curry is going cold."  
I walked back into the room and smiled at Jacob as I handed him his plate. The smile was wrong, too big, even as a 'don't worry you're doing' smile. He smiled back hesitantly. Not quite sure what to make of it. Colin was tucking in his curry. I kept my head down and ate. It seemed the safest thing to do. I was worried that if I spoke my voice would come out all squeaky. Fortunately, Colin and Alice kept up a constant chatter, mostly about her conspiracy theories. Colin seemed to find her entertaining. Either that or he was being polite. Though as far as I could remember Colin didn't do polite for the sake of it.

By the time Jacob suggested coffee and we at down, me on the beanbag, Colin and Alice on the sofa, I was beginning to calm down. So Edward was asking questions about me. Big deal. It didn't mean he was going to do anything. And if he did I could handle it. Knock him back ion an instant. Because he was chasing ghosts. The New Bella wasn't interested. And wasn't going to let him screw up her life. Again.

I smiled at Jacob as he handed me my coffee. A proper smile, one I meant. Colin picked up the copy of the _Gazette_ on the coffee tale.

"Is this today's? Can I have a look?" he asked.

"Sure, of course," I replied.

He started flicking through it, stopping on page five to read one of my stories. He turned the page and raised his glasses, squinting hard at something. I couldn't work out what it was.

"That's not…"

I realised as he started the sentence. Edward's column was on page six, complete with a photo byline.

I leapt up from the beanbag but I was too late.

"It is, isn't it, Bella? That's our Ed. Bloody hell, another blast from the past. Fancy you two ending up on the same paper again."

Alice and Jacob turned to look at me. I stood, hovering over Colin's shoulder. I needed time that I didn't have. I smiled lamely at them.

"_You used to work with Edward!?_"Alice screeched.

"Y-yeah…ages ago," I tried to make it sound casual. I could tell by the look on Alice's face that she was on to me.

"You never said," Jacob sounded like a child who was the only one in the class who hadn't been told a secret.

"It didn't seem worth mentioning." I said, picking up my coffee from the table, hoping they couldn't hear the cup rattling in the saucer in my hand. "I only worked with him for about six months,"

"Was that all it was?" said Colin, "I thought it was longer, you two got on so well,"

I shrugged, trying to hide my exasperation as Colin dug me further into the hole. "Like I said, it was long time ago,"

Jacob was looking at me, a bewildered expression on his face. He clearly wasn't going to let this one go.

"So you didn't keep in touch?" he said.

"God, no. haven't seen or heard from him since I left Rugby."

Jacob nodded, seemingly accepting my explanation. Alice was going to be more difficult. She was staring at me hard. Making mental notes of everything I said which could be used against me at a later date.

"So how is he?" asked Colin.

"Fine, I think. He seems fine. We haven't really talked much. We don't get the chance at work."

Alice's eyes were piercing my skin. I swore I heard her gasp at my impudence.

"It would be great to see him again. Why don't the three of us meet up for a drink sometime?" said Colin. "Give us all the chance to catch up on each other properly, reminisce about the good old days in Rugby. What do you say, eh, Bella?"

I hesitated, aware that refusing would sound even more suspicious.

"Yeah," I said, "Why not?"

"Just sort a date out between you two and let me know," said Colin, "It's not like I've got anything in my diary."

"Sure," I said, standing up. Desperate to end the agony of this conversation before I agreed to anything else I would regret.

"Anyone want more coffee?" I asked.

****************

Edward wasn't at his desk first thing Monday morning. Which was probably just as well. I suspected I was going to be subjected to an inquisition when Alice arrived and I was right. She came in, sat down with a thump and turned to look at me.

"Thanks for a lovely meal last Friday night. You probably don't remember it, mind. You've been suffering fro amnesia lately."

She clearly wasn't about to forgive my 'oversight'. Nor was she satisfied with the limp explanation I offered.

"Like I said, it didn't seem important,"

"That's where your story falls apart, my friend," said Alice accusingly, "If it wasn't important you would have mentioned it. The very fact that you didn't mention it is the giveaway."

I blamed Miss Marple for encouraging Alice. Giving her fancy ideas about her powers of deduction. Amateur sleuths were dangerous things, particularly when you had to sit next to one.

"Look, I didn't want to rake up the past, okay? Some things are better left there."

Alice turned to me. "You had a thing with him, didn't you?"

I typed frantically, the pads of my fingers banging into each key. Racing to keep up with my heartbeat.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Is that why you don't like him, because of what he did to you in the past? Did he cheat on you? Is that what all this is about?"

It was an understandable assumption to make. Especially from someone who only knew the New Bella. The whiter than white version.

"Something like that," I said. It was easier to keep up the lies than to admit the truth. That was what happened once you started lying. You got yourself into a deeper and deeper hole.

"Fucking hell, who'd have thought it. You and Edward."

"Keep your voice down, will you?" I said, looking over my shoulder. To he honest, I didn't mind who heard in that precise moment. What I resented was the fact that she found it so implausible. She obviously didn't consider me worthy of the attention of a man like Edward. Alice had a theory that men sought a partner who was marginally less attractive than them. So David Beckham ( a nine out of ten) had got Posh ( a seven out of ten) which was acceptable. You could have a two-point gap between you; anything more and it wouldn't work. Edward probably came in at a nine on the Alice Scale. I, quite obviously, was a six or below.

"Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me," said Alice, tapping the side of her nose.

I smiled appreciatively. The detective had fallen for the red herring. The real secret was safe with me.

*******

As I walked past Emmet's office later I noticed he was acting weird. Even weirder than usual. Pacing up and down while opening and losing his mouth in quick succession, as if eating imaginary fish food. Sometimes I wondered if it got to him, sitting in there all day. If he was losing it, mentally. I decided to pay him a visit.

"What you eating?" I said, entering the office without knocking, as only I was allowed to. Emmet looked up at me blankly.

"Nothing. Why, you got something for me?"

"No. Why do you keep closing and opening your moth then?"

"I'm practising what to say."

"When?"

"This afternoon."

"What's happening this afternoon?" I said.

Emmet looked down at his desk, shuffled his papers, held his head in his hands. He couldn't look at me in the eye, it was that bad. I'd never seen him like this before. I decided to help him out.

"Redundancies?" I asked. He nodded miserably.

"How many?"

He held both hands up in the air. I presumed he meant ten. Wither that or he was surrendering. I had never been very good at those _Give Us a Clue_-style games.

"Fucking hell," I said, sitting down on the chair opposite him. "Are they compulsory?"

He shook his head and managed to speak. "Voluntary if they get enough, compulsory if they don't. Last in first out."

It wasn't hard to do the maths. Edward's head was the first one on the chopping block. My heart stopped beating for a second. I glanced over at his empty desk, imagining it being permanently empty. I didn't want it to be. I was surprised of how sure I was of that.

"How many will take voluntary, you reckon?"

Emmet shrugged. "Hard to say. Phil, a couple of subs, maybe one or two from photographic,"

He was being optimistic. We both knew it was going to get nasty.

"When are you going to tell people?" I asked.

"Four-thirty. Figured I'd wait till the end of the day. Can't imagine anyone wanting to work afterwards."

I nodded. "Shitty job."

"Yeah, but I'd rather it came from than the MD."

"If there's anything I can do to help."

"Just have your counselling service available afterwards," Emmet said., "I think it's going to be needed."  
I slunk out of the office and took the scenic route round the newsroom to allow myself to make a mental list of the last nine people to join before Edward. It was only when I got back to my desk that I realised Alice was ninth in the line to go. If two people took voluntary redundancy she'd be safe. But it was a big 'if'. She'd gone out on a job, which was just as well. One look at my face and she'd have known something was up.

When Edward returned to the office ten minutes later I couldn't help myself. I smiled at him. The first time I'd acknowledged him in weeks. He looked over his shoulder and back towards me.

"I guess you misfired that one," he said. "It hit me by mistake. Do you want it back?"

I shook my head. If I'd been able to look at him in the eye I'd have gone so far as t o smile again.

Emmet came out of his office on the dot at four-thirty and clapped his hands. People looked up and stared at him, wondering if he'd been on some motivational management course.

"If you could all stop whatever you're doing and gather round. I need to have a word."

The expression on his face was painful to see. If he'd been about to knock on someone's door and tell them he'd just run over their only child, it wouldn't have looked any worse.

Alice, who had only been back five minutes, looked at me, suspecting I knew what we were about to be told. I stood up and shuffled forward into the crowd which was gathering round Emmet, wanting the cloak of anonymosity. I glanced at Edward who was standing opposite me looking unfazed as he always did, confident in his ability to deal with any ball bowled at him. I wanted to warn him there was a bouncer coming. But it was too late.

Emmet came straight out with it,no soft-soaping or management bullshit about restructuring the operation to boost efficiency. I listened with a renewed sense of admiration as he spelt out the situation, talking to people, not down to them. As editors went, he was really one of the best.

I watched as people took it in, heard the cogs whirring in their heads as they did the same maths I'd done earlier and saw the expressions change on their face, depending on the outcome.

Edward looked straight at me, realising that my smile earlier had been a knowing, sympathetic one. He was hurting, I could see that. It felt like we were the only two people in the room. I held his gaze and mouthed 'sorry'. O meant it. He blinked hard and looked away.

I caught sight of Alice. She was trying to look cool about it. She was trying too hard. Emmet stopped talking and asked if there were any questions. There were loads but no one said anything. People simply drifted away in small clusters in various parts of the newsroom. Sport started a book o who would take voluntary. Sonia the copy-taker started handing out business cards offering her dubious secretarial skills for a cut-price CV service. One of the subs told her where to stick it. She fled back to her desk in shock.

Edward and I were left standing there. He didn't need to say anything. I knew. That this was about much more than him losing his job. It was about me, about us. An us that I had tried to pretend never existed. But just wouldn't go away. I couldn't bear to look at his face any longer. I went back to my desk.

Alice was sitting very quietly. Too quietly.

"You'll be okay." I said. "Phil's probably got his name down already. And there's sure to be someone else who'll take it." She nodded and started packing away her things. People drifted off in the direction of the pub. Even those who never went to the pub, not even for leaving dos.

The newsroom emptied. Alice and Edward left together. I said I'd be over soon and phoned Jacob to tell him I was going to be late. Emmet was still in his office, staring at the fish. I guessed he required my counselling services.

"Come on," I said, popping my head round the door, "Come over the road with us,"

"They don't want me there."

"No one blames you, Emmet.".

I went in, shutting the door behind me, not that there was anyone left to listen.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm not cut out for this job."

"I never said that."

"You didn't have to. I've seen the look of your face."

"It took balls to do what you just did. I know that. I guess I wish you'd show them more often. You're too nice for your own good sometimes. Too nice to work for a bunch of bastards who have no interest in newspapers."

Emmet gave a rueful smile. "I was never as confident as you, you know. Not even when I started out."  
"Well, you must have had something going on for you. You wouldn't be editor otherwise."

"It's called staying in the same place all your working life, being a doormat and biding your own time until the only people who'd been here longer than you leave."

"No one's thinking you're a doormat."

"my wife does for a start."

"Don't let her walk over you, then."

"Bit difficult at the moment. He's living under my roof."

"Who is?"

"The man she's having an affair with."

It took a minute or so for the words to seep into my head, past the muddle of questions and concerns still spinning around fro earlier. When they finally registered I sat down on the chair opposite Emmet and stared at him. He always looked like he was carrying the world on his shoulders but this time I could actually see where it was making them sag.

"You're joking, right?"

"Believe me, it's not funny."

"She can't do that."

"Well, she has. Didn't even have the decency to tell me first. I came out of the bathroom yesterday morning and there he was, waiting to go in. Even had the nerve to introduce himself. Alec his name is."

"I don't understand. Didn't you know about this?"

"I'd guessed she was having an affair. Expensive perfume and hair-dos, taking up exercise, all the cliché things they tell you to look out for. Never confronted her about it, of course. Just took to sleeping in the spare bedroom. Seems like Rosalie took that to mean I was giving them my blessing. So she moved him into our old room with her."

Emmet ruffled his hair and laughed, as if it was an amusing anecdote he was relating about a story he'd once worked on.

"You're not going to let him stay, are you?"

"Don't have much choice. She told me that if he goes, she goes with him."

"Fine, let her go. No great loss. You haven't talked to each other for years, not properly."

"She's the boys' mother."

"Do they want her to stay?"

"I don't know. Haven't had the chance to talking to them. They've locked themselves in their rooms since. Rosalie says they're t an awkward age."

"Fucking hell, Emmet."

The word 'dysfunctional' sprang to my mind. Emmet's domestic set-up had turned into some sort of limp farce that the local amateur dramatic society would put on. I didn't know whether to pity him or pluck the goldfish from his tank and slap him round the face with it.

"Okay. Here's what you do. You go home now and tell her he's got twenty-four hours to get out. If she doesn't like it she can go with him and you'll start divorce proceedings."

"That's a bit drastic, isn't it?"

"Fine, be a doormat. Make him a cup of cocoa tonight and offer to introduce him to the neighbours. And tomorrow you can come in and tell the MD he can get rid of the lot of us. Turn the paper into an advertising free sheet and offer to be an unpaid paperboy," I got up and headed for the door.

"I know you're right, Bella." He said, his voice faltering, "It's just not going to be easy."

"The right things never are, Emmet. Haven't you learnt that yet?"

******

By the time I got to the pub it had turned into a bit of a wake. The older subs and photographers were reminiscing about the 'good old days'. The ten who'd been the last ones in, including Edward and Alice, were clustered round a table in deep conversation, like the immediate family whose loss is greater than anybody else's.

Not wanting to intrude on their private grief, I sat down next Carlisle, who'd already got me an orange juice.

"Thanks, Carlisle. Here's your chance to escape then. A nice little pay off, set you up good and proper."

"I'll have to see what they're offering, won't I?" he said,

"You won't get a better chance than this."

"A chance to do what exactly?"

"Get out of this place which you've never stopped complaining about since I met you."

He took a sip of beer, the head leaving a light, foamy moustache on his top lip.

"The thing is," he said, "It's like following the Villa. I moan about them all the time, they've got a chairman who doesn't give a toss about the fans, players who aren't worthy of cleaning the boots of the team that won the European Cup, but I still go when I'm not working, don't I? Because it's what I've always done. I don't know any different."

I nodded, beginning to understand.

"I know it's a big leap but think about it, won't you?" I said, "And in the meantime I've got a favour to ask you. Are there any old cameras knocking about in photographic? Film ones that no one will miss."

"Yeah. Two or three I think. Sitting in a cupboard."

"You wouldn't get me one, could you? And a lens or two if there are any going. They're not for me, they're for a good friend of mine."

"Sure. Anything to stop this lot flogging them off."

"Thanks," I said. "They'll go to a good home."

Nobody seemed in a hurry to leave the pub. Content to sit and rake over the embers. The death row ten were still huddled together for comfort. I told them I'd arrange a union meeting. That we weren't going to take this lying down. Though there didn't seem much stomach for a fight. I declined the offer of another drink and stood to leave.

"Can I give anyone a lift?" I called out.

"Yes, please," A lone voice said. Edward's.

I turned to face him, aware that people were looking at us. I hadn't meant to include him in the offer but I couldn't turn him down now. Not with everything that had just happened. I wasn't that mean.

"Okay," I said without actually looking at him. "Let's go."

The last thing I saw as I walked out of the pub was Alice's 'I told you so' face.

We walked back to my car in silence. Our steps synchronised; we were even breathing in time with each other. I suspected our hearts were beating at the same rate too. I glanced sideways. He looked like a dead man walking. The hurt twisted inside me again. Edward got into the car without saying a word. I heard him fasten his seatbelt. I opened my mouth to say something but Edward got in first.

"I know," he said, "I'm sorry too."

I turned to face him.

"I only found out this morning," I said. "I'd never have let Emmet take you on if I'd known."

I pulled out on to the ring road, the glare of headlights dazzling me in the mirror.

"Who said I was blaming you?"

"I just thought…"

"Sometimes you think wrong." Said Edward.

I drove in silence. I hadn't realised how late it was. Broad Street was getting busy. Young men in their shirtsleeves, braving the crisp November air. Groups of young women tottering down the street, their arms folded against the cold.

"Why did you sell the Beetle?" asked Edward.

His words pricked my defences. Reminding me of a time before. A time when things were different.

"I needed something more reliable."

He nodded slowly. "I saw it once, you know. After you left. Pulled up at some traffic lights and it was in front of me. Two kids bobbing around in the back. It was weird, threw me for a bit."

I kept my eyes on the road, not knowing what to say- I'd tried not to think about it. How difficult it must have been for him after I'd gone."

"So, are you happy with the Ford Focus?" he said, tapping the dashboard with his hand.

"It does the job."

"They've got no character, though, have they?" he said.

"I don't need character. I need to get from A to B."

Edward didn't reply. I drove on, under Five Ways and up the Hagley Road. We could still do it, have conversations on two levels. Knowing the real answer were in the subtext.

"How are your parents?" he said, He was taking me back again. Reminding me of the time he met them. Of a time when it was still fun.

"Fine, thanks. Still in Leamington. Mum's busy as ever with her social life. Dad's only got a few more years before he retires from the bank."

"Do they approve of your boyfriend?"

"I guess so. They get on okay."

Edward was digging, probing. Getting too near the truth. But I wasn't going to reveal that my mum had once described Jacob as 'nice enough, though rather odd.'

"Why did you run out from the bar at the gym?" he said softly.

He knew why. He wanted to see me admit it.

"I told you, I had plans."

"Nothing to do with what I said, then?"

"Why should it be?"

"Because you still care. I know you do. Despite this whole front you put on."

He seemed to have all the best cards tonight. I could only try to bluff.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Edward laughed, seeing straight through me. "Of course you do. You don't want me here because I complicate things. I remind you of a time when you used to live on the edge a little. Before you decided to become this super-cool woman who never lets her defences down. Who is too scared to laugh at jokes in case she might start enjoying herself. Too scared to open up in case she gets hurt.

The character assassination took me by surprise. And got under my skin.

"Hey, if you don't like my company I can drop you off here," I said, "Go and abuse a cabbie and pay for the privilege."

"I'm not having a go," said Edward. "I just want to get beyond this at of yours. This is me. I know you, remember."

"Used to know me," I said. "People change, Edward. Things happen and people have to grow up. Sometimes very fast."

It was far more measured than I felt. I wanted to let go of the wheel. To tear into him with my fists, beat him until he bled, scream pure fury at him, make him feel a tiny fraction of the hurt I had felt, that I could still feel now, at night when I lay next to Jacob, safe, secure and loved but terribly wounded.

Edward fell silent again. I could hear him breathing: a deep sigh followed by a short, sharp shallow breaths. Out of the corner of my eye I saw his face turn to look out of the window. Not that there was much of a view along the Hagley Road.

"How much further?" I asked at the next traffic lights.

"Third, left," he said. "The first building you come to on the right. I'm on the ground floor."

I pulled up outside. I didn't want to tell him about Colin. Didn't want to mention anything to do with the past. Anything that tied us together. But I had promised I'd arrange a get-together. And I didn't want to let Colin down.

"I've got something to ask you." I said.

Edward looked at me. Hoping for something I wasn't going to say.

"Someone you know wants to meet up. Wants the three of us to get together for a drink."

"Who?" he said.

"Colin Leake."

"God, good old Leaky. I haven't seen him since I left Rugby. What's he up to these days? Still bashing his head against the wall on Rugby Borough Council?"

"Err, no. He's selling _Big Issue_s actually."

"You what?" Edward twisted round to look at me, his eyebrows caught between shock and bewilderment.

"I know. It was a bit of a surprise to me too."

I told him the story, seeing his face go through the same range of expressions mine had. At the end of it Edward's mouth was still gaping open. It was a few seconds before he could say anything.

"Fucking hell. Poor bastard. And I was feeling bad about losing my job."

"I know. It kind of puts things into perspective."

"And makes you realise how it can happen to anyone. The old downward spiral thing. How easily everything can fall apart."

I glanced at him. Knowing full well what he meant "So shall I tell him you're up for it? To meet up, I mean."

"Yes. Yes, of course. Monday or Tuesday nights are good for me. If that suits you."

"Fine. Let's say a week today. After work at the Newt and Cucumber. I'll let him know tomorrow."

Edward nodded. He undid his seatbelt but didn't get out.

"Do you want to come in?"

"Edward, don't."

"What are you scared of, Bella?"

I turned to look at him, daring myself not to show a flicker of emotion.

"Myself." I said. "My old self."

We sat for a while.

"If I thought you were happy." He said. "I'd leave it alone. I'd always hoped you were happy, wherever you were, whoever you were with."

"What makes you think I'm not?" I said.

"Your eyes." He replied. "They used to sparkle with aliveness. Not any more."

I turned my face to look straight ahead through the windscreen, determined not to let him see my trembling lip.

"I really am sorry about your job." I said after a few moments.

"Hey, don't worry. I make a habit of this, remember. Crap decisions, lousy timing, big regrets."

I knew exactly what he was referring to. Yet still I wanted him to spell it out, to say the words out loud. So I could actually hear them, rather than imagine them in my head.

"You'd better go now." I said.

"What about you?" he said. "Any regrets?"

"Too few to mention."

Edward smiled dryly. "Thank you, Frank. It only takes one though, doesn't it? To screw up your entire life."

And with that he got out and slammed the door.

**Well...you know the drill...REVIEW? PLEASE? Yay! I'm sorry for any mistakes and I hope you liked the chapter. I know it doesn't have that much interaction between E&B but I liked it like this. It was an important conversation. **

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**-Angel on Air**


	23. Chapter 23

**AN: HEEEEEEY! Can I have a WHOOP WHOOP!!?!? I mean, really, I managed to write this whole chapter in less than a day! Yay! Well, its just I'm trying to make up for all the time I didn't update so here it is..hehehehehe :D:D:**

Chapter 23: Breathe No More

I went straight to court on Monday morning. Some date rape case Eric had picked out especially for me. "These good-time girls have a few too many Hooches, wake up the next morning and don't like the look of the bloke next to them. That's all it is."

As it turned out, Eric couldn't have been further from the truth. She was eighteen, still at school, and hadn't even been drinking that night. He was twenty-five, loud and brash, had given her a lift home from a party and thought she owed him a quick one in return so locked the car doors and raped her before he let her out. I caught her eye once, poor cow. I turned the corners of my mouth up in what I hoped was a supportive smile. She looked straight at her feet. Probably the first time she'd ever accepted a lift home. Probably the last time, too. The prosecution did a decent enough job. But I knew the defence would play all the usual cards: make out she had been sleeping around, claim she had consented and just panicked the next morning. And he'd get off, of course. Because it was mainly her word against his. And there were too many Erics in the jury. I filed the story in over the phone. Sonia was her usual helpful self, muttering 'ooh's' and 'aaah's' as if it was some bloody pantomime. I headed back to the office still filled with frustration at the injustice of the world.

The union meeting was being held in the library at work. Emmet had given us special permission, though we had to promise we wouldn't be burning effigies of the group chief executive, or anything sinister like that. As I suspected, the spectre of redundancies drew a far bigger crowd than usual. The room was full by twelve-thirty, people who paid their subs but didn't usually bother coming to meetings marching into the room like strident activists.

"Wow," Alice said. "I' like it when people get angry. If we out on strike do you think we'll get on telly? I might start designing a placard just in case."

I gave her a look. Knowing it was her way of covering up her concern. Edward arrived as we were about to start and perched himself on a table to my left. It was weird standing up there facing him. Remembering a time when the roles had been reversed. When I'd watch in awe as he'd rallied his comrades into action. I hoped I wasn't going to mess things up. I'd never dealt with anything of this magnitude before. Edward caught my eye and winked, as if sensing I needed some support. I smiled. Knowing I could do it with him here.

"Thanks for coming, everyone." I started. "I'm going to outline everything I've been told about the redundancy situation and then run through the options we've got in terms of response." I looked from face to face as I talked, ware that Edward hadn't taken his eyes off me since he walked into the room.

"I suggest the first thing we do is write a strongly worded letter to the MD, copied to the group chief exec, requesting a meeting and asking him to withdraw the threat of compulsory redundancies and offer improved terms of voluntary ones."

"That'll put the fear of God into them," said Eric. He didn't usually attend union meetings. Considered it incompatible with his management role. I wish he hadn't bothered to come to this one.

"And what do you suggest we do instead?" I asked.

"We need to catch the enemy by surprise. Attack when and where they least expect it. Not warn them of our battle plans."

I groaned inwardly, wishing we didn't have General Norman Schwarzkopf in our midst. If he war armed he really could be dangerous.

"I'll bear that in mind. Any more suggestions?"

"I could get the local MPs and council leader on board." Edward said, "Ask them to write to the MD about fears over editorial quality,"

There were murmurings of support from other members. People respected Edward. As well as liking him.  
"Thanks, Edward, that would be great. And if we don't get the required response from management we'll look at taking things further. Is that okay, folks?"

Everyone agreed, apart from Eric, who walked out muttering something about giving the enemy time to regroup.

"Not bad for a former sceptic," said Edward as he walked past. I smiled at him as I made my way back to the newsroom.

Edward went straight to the Council House. Which was just as well. I was aware that I was starting to soften at the edges. To peel back a layer or two of the protective coating. I had to keep reminding myself of the hurt inside. Of the importance of keeping the wound clean, of not letting it get re infected.

When the final edition came out, I flicked through it and read my court report.

"Oh no," I groaned. "Sonia's struck again."

"What's she done this time?" asked Alice.

"I told her the CPS woman was Anne with an e Dexter."

"And what did she put?"

I pointed to the relevant line. "Prosecuting, Ann Withany Dexter."

Alice roared with laughter. "You have to hand it to her. She really can turn copy round."

At four-thirty on the dot I logged off, took a battered canvas bag containing Colin's camera from under my desk and slung it over my shoulder.

"What's this?" said Alice, "Are you working to rule already?"

"I've got an appointment to keep. With a certain _Big Issue_ seller."

"Oh yes, your cosy threesome. Where's Edward?"

"He's going straight from the Council House. Meeting us there."

"Have fun," said Alice, grinning, "Don't do anything I wouldn't."

"That leaves pretty much everything" I said with a smirk.

Colin was hovering by the bar when I arrived at the pub. Tufts of hair were sticking out from under the baseball cap he was wearing. He appeared uneasy in a social situation but then he had always done. It was in the council chamber that he used to come into his own. That he grew in stature and confidence. But he had lost that arena. Thanks to me. His face brightened as soon as he saw me. Which made me feel even worse.

"Hi Colin," I said, patting him on the shoulder, trying my best to put him at ease. "Your face looks better. How was business today?"

"Bit slow," he said, taking the cap off and scratching his forehead. "People too cold to take their hands out of their pockets, I guess,"

I noticed he was wearing a pair of fingerless gloves, the likes of which I hadn't seen since the late eighties.

"What can I get you to drink?" I said.

"Oh, thanks. Half a lager please."

"Coming up. Now, prepare yourself, I've got a surprise for you," I said, unable to keep it from him any longer. I handed him the canvas bag. He staggered exaggeratedly under the weight.  
"Bloody hell, what is it?"

"Take a look," I said. "Though I wouldn't get it out here." He unclipped the buckles and lifted the flap. It took a second to register before his face lit up.

"It's a Nikon FM2"

"Yep. Old hat nowadays but top of the range in its time, I'm told. You'll find a couple of lenses in there as well. A wide angle and a two hundred."

"What do you want me to do with them?"

"You could use them as doorstops or paperweights if you like but I'd try taking some photos"

His face lit up. "Are you sure they won't mind? When do you want them back?"

"I don't Colin. They're yours to keep. Courtesy of those nice people at the _Evening Gazette_. Photographic have all got digitals now. You've saved it from getting dust in a cupboard."

The smile on Colin's face threatened to go full circle. It choked me up just seeing it.

"Thanks, Bella." He said. "That's fantastic. Thanks very much."

"I've put a few rolls of black and white film in there as well. I expect to see the results mind. And they'd better be good."

I carried out drinks over to the table, Colin seemingly unwilling to let go of the bag, even for a second. We'd not been there long when Edward breezed in, trench coat swishing at his heels. He spotted us straight away and hurried over.

"Hello, Colin. Good to see you again." He said, shaking Colin's hand warmly.

"And you," said Colin, smiling broadly, "It's been a long time."

"It certainly has," said Edward, "Now, ca I get you guys a drink?" We both declined. Edward went up to the bar alone.

"He's looking well," said Colin, "Hardly changed at all."

"No," I said. "Just dresses a bit smarter."

Edward returned with his bottle of Becks.

"Bella was just complimenting you on your newfound sartorial elegance." Said Colin.

"Are you sure she wasn't just taking the piss?" he said, grinning at me as I blushed.

"I had wondered what became of the denim jacket." I said.

"Went to a charity shop a few years ago," he said. "Probably still there." I smiled. I was slipping again. He made it hard not to. Edward turned to Colin. "Bella's filled me in on what happened," he said, sitting down on a stool next to me. "I'm really sorry you've had such a rough time of it."

Colin shrugged and took a sip of his lager. "Things haven't exactly gone to plan since I last saw you."

"I remember looking for your name in the list if new MPs after Labour won again in 2003," said Edward. "I had no idea why it wasn't there,"

"I was in a bit of a state by then," said Colin. "Mind you, even if I had won in 2001, I'd probably have only lasted a term under Blair. You were right, Ed. He did turn out to be a bloody Tory in disguise."

Edward laughed and looked at me, as if suspecting I would blow the whistle at him at any moment.

"Watch it, Colin," I said. "Haven't you read Edward's column? He's turned into a Blairite in his old age."

Colin nearly dropped his glasses. He stared at Edward incredulously. "You never have?"

Edward shook his head. "I'm not exactly on message but I did vote for him last time."

"What brought you on? You used to be further left than Karl Marx."

Edward laughed. "Realism, I guess. Growing old enough to see the value of appealing to Middle England. Unfortunately it's the only way to win the general elections."

He said it with a note of resignation in his voice. It made me realise that Edward had changed too. Not only older but wiser and sadder. For all sorts of reasons.

Colin shook his head and turned to me. "What about you, Bells? Are you still voting Labour?"

"No, not since Iraq. I voted Green last time. Jacob's a member."

"Bit of a waste." Colin said. "You might as well not vote at all."

"Oh, no" I said, my cheeks flushing, "I'd never do that."  
I shifted on my seat. Edward looked at me and opened his mouth to say something. I shook my head firmly and he shut it again.

"He's a nice chap, Bella's boyfriend." Colin said to Edward. "You'll have to get her to invite you round for a meal. He cooks a mean curry."

Edward looked down. I fiddled with the stem of my glass. A silence descended on our table. It was Colin who broke it.

"How's Tanya, Edward?"

It had gone from being slightly uncomfortable to excruciatingly so. I cringed, realising I'd forgotten to fill Colin in.

"Err, she's fine." Said Edward. "But we got divorced a year ago."

"Oh sorry," Colin said looking embarrassed.

"It's okay," said Edward. "You weren't to know. Anyway it was fairly amicable."

"You're still on speaking terms, then?" said Colin. Edward glanced over at me. I took a sip of my orange juice and looked down at the table, trying not to appear interested.

"Yeah we have to be."

I looked up, unsure what he was getting at. Colin was looking at him too.

"We've got a little girl." He said.

The music from the jukebox faded, the chatter from other tables became indistinct, the figures standing at the tables blurred into one. And I sat there staring at Edward. Hearing his words reverberating inside my head. Wondering why he hadn't told me before. And why I stupidly hadn't thought to ask. While all the time the knife twisted further, reopening old wounds.

"Oh, right." Said Colin. "How old is she?"

"Just turned four," Edward said, still avoiding eye contact with me. "We tried staying together for her sake but it didn't work. I think children pick up in bad atmosphere even at that age."

"What's her name?" I said, moved to speak by the sudden need to know.

"Jessica." Said Edward, turning to face me, seemingly pleased that I had asked. "We call her Jess." The corners of his mouth turned up as he said it, his face noticeably softening. I nodded. She had a name now, I couldn't deny her existence.

"Do you get to see her much?" Colin asked.

"Yeah, most weekends. It's easier now I'm here actually. Tanya moved back to Rugby after the divorce.

"Oh, right. Has the old place changed much?" said Colin.

"No, not really." Said Edward. "The _Chronicle_'s gone downhill, mind, since Bella and I left." He looked at me as he said it. He ws trying to be nice, to lighten the atmosphere. But I was still too busy trying to digest the news to smile.

"I haven't been back there myself. Too many memories." Colin said, his eyes glazing over for a second. "How about you, Bella?"

I shook my head. Too many memories. Memories I couldn't even speak of. Memories I'd fought so hard to bury but which had now been unearthed. I blinked hard, struggling to hold myself together.

"Strange isn't it?" Colin said. "How everything turned out. Us three all ending up in Birmingham. What do you think of it, Edward?"

"Great place." Said Edward. "Much better city to live in than London. It's a shame I might not be staying long."

"What do you mean?" said Colin.

"I'm possible going to be made redundant." Said Edward.

"They're asking for ten people to take voluntary but if they don't get them I'm first for the chop.

"Bloody hell," said Colin, "I'm sorry to hear that. What are you going to do?"

"I don't know yet," said Edward. "It depend on a lot of things."

He glanced at me and looked away again before standing up. The knife twisted again. I couldn't stand this much longer.

"What can I get you, Colin?" he asked.

"Oh, another half, if that's alright."

"Of course. Bella?"

"Not for me, thanks. I'd better be making a move."  
Edward nodded, as if he understood. I stood up slowly, feeling a little shaky on my feet.

"Of course. I keep forgetting that unlike us pair of sad bastards you've got someone to go home to." Said Colin, his face dropping for a moment.

"You know you're always welcome to come round any time," I said. It wasn't what he'd meant but it was the best I could do.

"Cheers. Thanks for coming," said Colin. "It's been great seeing you both again. Just like old times."

"Yeah," I said.

"See you tomorrow, Bella." Said Edward. His liquid emerald eyes were desperately trying to soothe away the pain. He didn't know, though, couldn't understand. How deep it went inside.

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**Hehehehe I know I'm mean but still :D:D:D:D:D:**

**_Song list --_**

**_Name: Hurt~Christina Aguilera_**

**_Chapter 1: Broken~Lifehouse_**

**_Chapter 2: New begginings~ ---_**

**_Chapter 3: Another Kind Of Light_**

**_Chapter 4:Don't let the Sun go Down on Me~Eltohn John & George Michael_**

**_Chapter 5: Everytime we touch~Maggie Reilly_**

**_Chapter 6:Love's Divine~Seal_**

**_Chapter 7: Take the Long Way Home~Supertramp_**

**_Chapter 8: The morning after~Maureen Mcgovern_**

**_Chapter 9: We Could Have it All~Maureen Mcgovern_**

**_Chapter 10: Broken~Lifehouse_**

**_Chapter 11: Who wants to live forever?~Queen_**

**_Chapter 12: Like a Knife~Secondhand Serenade_**

**_Chapter 13: Like a Knife (2)~Secondhand Serenade_**

**_Chapter 14: Love For a Child~Jason Mraz_**

**_Chapter 15: I Will Always Love You~Whitney Houston_**

**_Chapter 16: I'm not in love~10cc_**

**_Chapter 17: Use Somebody~Kings of Leon_**

**_Chapter 18:If you Could See Me Now~Boys Like Girls_**

**_Chapter 19: Thanks for the Memories~Fall Out Boy_**

**_Chapter 20:She's got a boyfriend now~Boys Like Girls_**

**_Chapter 21: Broken Man~Boys Like Girls_**

**_Chapter 22:Hymn To The Silence~Van Morrison_**

**_Chapter 23: Breathe No More~Evanescence_**

**Hope to update soon!  
**

**-Angel on Air **


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24: Ashes and wine

BPOV

2008

"Happy Birthday, gorgeous," said Jacob. He had showered and dressed already and was standing beside the bed with a dimpled grin on his face, holding out a present neatly wrapped in recycled gift paper. He seemed far more excited than I was. Birthdays had never been a big thing for me, probably due to the fact that my parents had always seemed to mark rather than celebrate them. There would be a card from them in the post later with a Marks & Spencer gift voucher inside. So I could buy myself something tasteful and sensible. And that would be it for another year.

"Thanks" I said, blearily rubbing my eyes and propping myself up in bed with two pillows before taking the present. It was heavier than I had expected, almost a foot long and decidedly chunky. I was not hopeful; presents weren't Jacob's strong point. I blamed his mother for this. Dawn had always bought Christmas and birthday presents from worthy charity shops and catalogues, refusing to even set foot in a high street store for fear of buying something which was made with child labour in a Far East sweatshop. Consequently Jacob limited his gift choices to those items on offer in the Amnesty International catalogue. For Christmas I'd dropped a hint about wanting something personal and received a towelling bath robe (page 12, organic Fairtrade cotton made on a disabled women's cooperative in India). Not quite what I'd had in mind but at least it was wearable.

I peeled off the Sellotape, a look of false excitement on my face, the same one I'd used for my great-aunt's inappropriate gifts as a teenager. The present fell out on the bed, landing heavily on my thigh. I picked it up. It appeared to be a torch of some kind. If I recalled rightly it was featured on page 15.

"Oh, err, thanks," I said, trying desperately to sound as if I meant it.

"It's an environmentally friendly self-sufficient flash-light." Jacob explained, rather too enthusiastically. "It doesn't use batteries, there's a wind up mechanism instead. Sixty seconds' winding gives up to five minutes' full beam. I thought it would be useful to have in your car in case of an emergency."

I tried to think of the type of night-time motoring emergency in which you would have a spare minute to spend winding up a torch before being able to see for certain that you had in fact, lost your leg in the multiple pile-up.

Jacob was still hovering expectantly, "It's okay, isn't it?" he said. "Only I never know what to get you."

"Of course," I lied, "I'm sure it will be useful," I stretched my neck up to kiss him. Our lips barely touched. It was enough for him, though. He was still on a high from the previous evening. It wasn't often we managed sex twice in one night but Jacob had been in a particularly persistent mood.

'Eager to please and enthusiastic,' that's what I'd say about his performance if I were writing a school report. 'Jacob is an active and willing participant in sexual intercourse, he demonstrates a thorough understanding of theory and always gives his best." Textbook stuff but it hadn't done the trick for me. Hadn't blotted the thoughts of Edward from my mind. Or purged me of the guilt about thinking I could use him in that way.

"I've got to dash, but don't be late home tonight," said Jacob, still wearing the expression of an anxious-to-please puppy.

"Oh, and why's that?" I said, feeling compelled to go along.

"I've booked a table for two for seven-thirty," he said. "Somewhere special."  
I smiled as he waved goodbye. I couldn't fault him for trying. But it was the fact that he did try which made it so hard.

I took a leisurely shower and did myself some toast for breakfast before gathering my things for work. As I opened the front door Shaila was about to pop a card through the letter box.

"Hey, I can give it to the birthday girl in person." She said.

"You should have knocked."

"I didn't want to disturb you in case you were having a birthday morning love-in," she said. Shaila was still in the honeymoon period of her relationship with Paul.

"No such luck. Jacob had to be in early this morning."

"What did he get you?" she asked.

I hesitated, not sure I could muster the necessary enthusiasm.

"I don't know, I haven't opened it yet." I lied. Unsure who I was protecting. Jacob or myself.

"Oh, wow. I love surprises. I can't wait till Paul's birthday. Its great being so close you can get stuff you know they'll like without having to ask, isn't it?"

I nodded and smiled in agreement. Feeling the need to go on the defensive.

"He's taking me out to dinner tonight as well. But he won't tell me where."

"Fantastic. He certainly knows how to treat you."

"Yeah," I said, "He does."

When I arrived at work, a brightly coloured note was stuck to my computer screen. 'Happy 31st Birthday, you old bird', it read, with a photo of a pensioner in a Zimmer frame under it. Two envelopes were propped up against the keyboard. Alice was staring stern-faced at her computer, failing again in the art of looking innocent.

"Thanks" I said, "You know I'm going to get my own back next year when you're twenty five,"

"If I'm still here," Alice said. No one had taken voluntary redundancy yet, not even Phil.

"The only reason you won't be here is if you've had a better offer. Some Hollywood celebrity news agency, perhaps."

"I had a dream last night," she continued, disregarding my comment. "I went for a pee in the ladies. Emmet was on stilts, watching me over the top of the cubicle. When I'd finished, and it was a really long pee, he said, 'If your copy flow was as good as your urine flow I wouldn't have to let you go.' What do you suppose that means?"

"That you have some weird toilet fixation?"

"It means I'm on my way out."

"If you believe that crap," I said, ripping open the top envelope to reveal a picture of an old lady sitting on a lavatory with her considerably sized knickers round her ankles.

"I think I was right the first time." I said, shaking my head as I thanked Alice for the thought, strange as it was.

I opened the next envelope. It was a Far Side card. I recognised it instantly: it was the same one I'd got Edward for his thirtieth. I opened it with trembling hands.

'Have a great birthday, love Edward.'

I felt like a thirteen year old who'd just received her first Valentine's card. I stuffed it back into the envelope, trying not to appear ruffled. I glanced across his empty seat. I hadn't told him and I didn't think anyone else had. Which meant he'd remembered.

Within minutes of my arrival the phones started ringing, the callers all ex-servicemen, complaining about our Remembrance Day report in yesterday's late edition. Saying we'd got it wrong- That there was no such thing as the Kenneth Kohima Epitaph. That Kohima was a battle in India. One or two were irate, demanding to speak to the editor. I took their numbers and went to see Emmet.

"Take over, there's a storm brewing." I said.

"I know. News desk have already put a couple through to me."

"So what should it have said?"

"That there was a moving rendition of the famous Kohima Epitaph," said Emmet, "You know the one: For your tomorrow, we gave our today."

"So where did Kenneth come from?"

Emmet started chuckling. "Take a wild guess."

I followed the direction of his gaze. "Sonia."

"Right in one. When Ravinder filed the copy in he spelt Kohima out for her. Told her it started with K for Kenneth. I suppose she got a bit confused. And neither Lisa nor the subs spotted it."

I shook my head and groaned. Emmet was still chuckling.

"You won't be laughing when they start getting the calls in London." I said.

"What do you mean?"

"Our copy was syndicated to the nationals. Kenneth Kohima will be all over the country now."

Emmet groaned and bashed his head on the desk.

"I did warn you," I said. "She'll start a bloody war one day,"

Edward didn't get back to the office until most people ha left for the afternoon. Alice had gone home. It was just the two of us on our desk.

"Hi Bella. Had a good day?" he said.

The warmth of his voice peeled another layer away. He was getting dangerously close now. To the inner core. I started hurriedly packing my things away.

"Yeah. Thanks for your card." I mumbled. "I've got to dash. I'm going out tonight." I realised I'd got my excuse in before it was required.

"Before you go, I've got a little something for you." He said, reaching into his drawer and handing me a small box wrapped in tissue paper.

I looked at him.

"Oh, really, you shouldn't have."

"Don't get too excited. You haven't opened it yet." Said Edward

I tore open the paper, removed the lid of the box and peered inside at the brown, rather musty contents. It took a moment for me to realise what it was. My dried camel dung. I started laughing too. Just like we had seven years ago.

"You kept it?" I said.

"It was all I had to remember you by."

I shook my head, the smile fading slightly.

"So why give it back?" I said.

"I don't need mementos any more. I've got the real thing sitting two desks away," he said. "At least for now."

I picked up my briefcase. Trying not to let him see my face.

"So when are we going to celebrate your birthday?" he said.

I look around playing for time while I decided what to say.

"I don't know" was al I managed to come up with.

"How are you fixed on Saturday evening?"

I opened my mouth to answer but nothing came out. The cleaner started hoovering at the far end of the office. She had almost reached us and I still hadn't said anything.

"Remind me if I ever gt on to _Who Wants to Be a Millionaire_ not to put you down as a phone a friend." Said Edward. "I'd hate to think what you're like with a tough question."

"I'm busy," I said, "But thanks anyway,"  
"Offer's still open if you change your mind." Said Edward.

I nodded and strode off purposefully along the corridor, being careful not to slip on the wet floor.

********

I smiled at Jacob as the waiter eased the chair in under me.

"This is nice," I said.

We were in a restaurant called Mangos in Harborne. Very upmarket for us: we usually went to a glorified café run by a Fairtrade vegetarian co-operative in Digbeth. Apparently they were in the middle of a refurbishment, hence the new venue.

"It is your birthday," he said. "You deserve it."

He reached across the table and squeezed my hand. I could forgive him the torch thing. It was, after all, the thought that counted. A sudden flare from the candle lit up his face. Capturing the look of love, bordering on adoration. Reminding me how lucky I was.

Would you like to order some wine?" our waiter enquired, gesturing to a chalk board on the wall.

Jacob scanned the list. "Do you have anything vegetarian?"

The waiter looked at him quizzically.

"Fish bladders," Jacob explained. "Most wines are filtered through fish bladders but there are vegetarian alternatives. I have a list on me, if it helps." He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his trouser pocket and handed it to the waiter. "Red or white, I'm not fussy."

I stared intently at the tablecloth. I had forgotten he downside of going to normal restaurants. We'd never had the pleasure of visiting one with Dawn but I suspected she would be far, far worse.

"Certainly sir," The waiter backed away and returned several minutes later with a bottle of white which Jacob examined before allowing him to pour.

"Cheers, happy birthday," said Jacob. Our glasses met with a gentle clink. I returned his smile. According to the menu, Mangos offered 'A fusion of new world cuisine with a modern twist', which all sounded suitably impressive. Jacob shifted in his seat and undid the top button of his collarless shirt.

"Everything okay?" I asked.

"Yeah, Not sure what to go for. There aren't as many veggie options as they said on the phone."

"They sound good, though. And I'm starving." I said.

"The waiter returned and I placed my order. He looked at Jacob with some trepidation.

"Er, I'll have the sweet potato for starters as long as it's made with vegetable stock; if it's not then I'll go for the marinated tofu, aubergine and halloumi kebabs but could you please check with chef that the soya isn't genetically modified? If it is you'd better come back and I'll have another look." Jacob smiled as he finished. I felt myself sink deeper into my seat as the waiter walked away, still scribbling furiously on his pad. I was surprised Jacob hadn't asked whether the notebook was made from recycled paper.

I glanced round at the other diners, mostly couples, hoping no one had overheard, Jacob looked at me.

"What?" he asked.

" I just don't like having to make a fuss when we're out."

"I was only checking. Loads of restaurants use chicken stock in the soups. You have to be careful ."

I nodded, deciding to leave it at that.

"So did they spoil you rotten at work today, then?" he said.

"I got a couple of cards. And Alice took me for lunch which was nice."

"Who were they from?"

"Sorry?"

"The cards."

"I cursed myself for not thinking before opening my mouth. Or maybe I had thought. Maybe that was the problem. I knew I had to make a quick choice, the only options being to lie or to brush it off casually. I plumped for the latter.

"Oh, er, Alice of course. And Edward."

"The guy you used to work with?"

"Yeah."

"That was nice of him."

If I hadn't known better I'd have sworn there was a hint of jealousy there. Maybe laced with a tiny drop of suspicion.

"Yeah, Alice, must have told him," I said quickly. "You know what she's like, always trying to turn things into a party."

Jacob nodded. The silence was broken by the waiter returning wth our starters.

"Is your terrine good?" asked Jacob.

"Mmmm," I said in between mouthfuls. "And your soup?"  
"Sorry?"

"Your soup. Is it okay?"

"Oh, yeah. Fine thanks."

It was said without his customary enthusiasm. I wasn't sure if he suspected the chef had lied about the stock or whether there was something else bothering him.

"Are you sure you're okay?" I asked. "Only you seem a bit distracted."

"Sorry. I've got things in my mind."

"Like what?" I said, praying Edward wasn't one of them.

"It's only work stuff, it can wait. This is supposed to be your night."

"Come on, we can still talk." I said, relieved I was off the hook. "What is it?"

Jacob sighed. "That lad, Daniel, the one who's getting bullied. He came to se me again. Turns out he _is_ gay. Or at least he thinks he is. Asked me whether I thought he should come out to the other kids. If it would get them off his back."

"I hope you told him no."

"Er, no. Not exactly."

"You know what they're like, Jacob. They're bad enough without any encouragement. I can't imagine they'd respect his honesty and leave the poor kid alone."

"No, I guess not."

"So what did you tell him?"

"That it was up to him to do whatever he thought was right. And that I'd be there to support him if he needed it."

I nodded while cringing inside. Sometimes the world seemed too harsh a place for Jacob.

"I wouldn't worry." I said. "Hopefully he'll decide to keep it to himself."  
The main courses arrived, Jacob tucked into his tofu without any further questions. He seemed to relax a little now he'd got the Daniel thing off his chest. He even related an amusing tale about Ozzy Osbourne one of the kids told him. It made me laugh out loud. I liked it when he did that.

After a suitable pause, we were given the dessert menus to peruse. When our waiter returned a few minutes later he was looking understandably anxious.

"I'll have the lemon and coconut cheesecake." I said.

"Make that two," said Jacob. "But could you check there's no gelatine in the topping please."

The waiter disappeared scratching his head. I gave Jacob another look.

"Sorry, shouldn't I have asked?"

"Um, sometimes it can be a bit much," I heard myself say.

"I am trying," said Jacob anxiously. "I didn't ask if there was palm oil in the base."

"What's wrong with palm oil?" I asked.

"Mum told me about it. They're cutting down half the rainforests in Borneo to make way for palm oil plantations. Sometimes they kill baby orang-utans in the process.

"Right," I said, wondering if this would be added to our list of boycotted products.

The waiter returned with the grim news that the chef had confirmed the presence of gelatine in the cheesecake.

"Oh, I'll have the ice cream then." Jacob said.

"And does the madam still want the cheesecake?" the waiter asked.

"Er, no. I'm fine thanks. Nothing for me."

"You could have had it if you wanted," said Jacob as soon as the waiter had gone. "I wouldn't have minded." He didn't understand that once he'd refused something on moral grounds it was difficult for me not to do the same.

A dish of mango ice cream appeared for Jacob.

"Are you sure you don't want to share this?" he asked.

"No, thanks. You tuck in."

We sat in silence while Jacob ate the ice cream. I wondered what Edward was doing, what he'd been planning for Saturday night.

"Would you like coffee?" the waiter enquired. I bit my lip willing Jacob not to say anything.

"Have you got anything Fairtrade?" he asked. The waiter rolled his eyes. I stood up sharply.

"We don't want any coffee, thank you." I said. "Just the bill please and could you order a cab." I turned to Jacob who remained sitting, a startled expression on his face. "I'll see you outside." I said, taking my jacket from the back of my chair and marching out of the restaurant.

I stood for a moment, gulping the damp night air, trying to stop my body from shaking. Jacob emerged a few minutes later.

"I'm sorry." He said. "I didn't mean to upset you."  
"Well you have. It was supposed to be a quiet birthday meal, not a party political broadcast on behalf of Friends of the Earth."

I lowered my arm, conscious that I was jabbing a finger at him. Jacob stood staring at me.

"But I thought you agreed with all that stuff."

"I do, but I don't want it rammed down my throat and everyone else's. Sometimes you sound just like your mother."

The cab pulled up outside. I opened the rear door and got in. Jacob was few steps behind me. "The cab driver filled up at Esso. I'm afraid you'll have to walk."

I hated doing it. But it was the only way he'd learn.

**Cannot explain how sorry or how sad it was for me not to be able to continue this story. I know I owe you so much more, but I don't have the words. I am truly sorry for those of you who have been wanting to continue reading, but the last review I got was so upsetting I was not able to write anymore or if I did, I'm sure I wouñld have ended the story and have them both killed in a car accident. **

**Sorry x**

**-Angel on Air.**


	25. Chapter 25

**This author's note might turn out to be slightly sugary and shit...so if you feel uncomfortable with that don't read ;) I want to thank all of you who on the last chapter showed so much support...I just...argh! You really are the best readers inthe whole world. All those things you said, they made me want to cry. I am just so happy it's unbelievable. I just want you to know how good you've made me feel, how much I felt those reviews, I wish there was a word to describe what I amfeeling right now, or maybe there is but I don't know it :P Whatever, I love you guys and now that my hopes are up again,I will try to upate more often and hopefully I can finish this story as I planned to do at the beggining. **

**LETS GET READING! :D**

Glory of Love

I woke up at six next morning. Jacob was fast asleep next to me. I didn't even remember hearing him come home. Normally I'd have tried to get back to sleep. But today I knew it wasn't worth it. I slipped out of bed and into the bathroom. Jacob's wet clothes were hanging over the radiator. I felt a twinge of guilt. Maybe I'd been a bit harsh on him. But maybe it was the only way. I took a shower but as I crept back into the darkness of the bedroom to dress, I noticed Jacob's eyes were open.

"You're up early," he said, croaking slightly.

"Yeah, got a lot on at work," I mumbled, trying to avoid eye contact by rummaging on some drawers for my underwear.

"Look, about last night," he started.

"I'm sorry you got wet," I said, hoping to head off a row. Jacob leant up in bed, switched the bedside lamp on and rubbed his eyes awake. Clearly the subject was far from finished.

"I'm sorry I upset you," he said, his face suitably apologetic, "I guess I was a bit distracted with the stuff at work. And wanting you to enjoy it made me a bit anxious and when I get anxious I tend to babble and, well, you know what happened." He threw his hands out wide as he said it. His way of begging for forgiveness.

"It's okay," I said with my back to him as I fastened my bra, "I understand. It's just that occasionally I need a night off from making the world a better place. A nice quiet meal without any hassle."

I pulled a top over my head, hopinf I'd managed to end the conversation. But the look on Jacob's face as my head poked though suggested otherwise.

"What you said about me sounding like Mum. Did you mean that?"

I paused for a second, going back to the wardrobe to find some trousers to give myself more time.

"All I meant was that sometimes it's like you're trying to impress her when she's not even there."

"I wasn't. It's how I am," The hands were out again, his voice indignant.

"No, Jacob, it's how she brought you up. You're a big boy now, you don't have to follow her teachings to the letter. Or impose them on everyone else."

He scratched his head as he tried to digest what I'd said. His face was as crumpled as last night's clothes.

"So what are you saying? That I'm an irritating bastard who rubs everyone uo the wrong way?"

I sat down on the corner of the bed and touched his leg though the duvet.

"Of course not. What I'm asking you to do is to stop and think before you say things. And once in a while, if it's not the right time or the right place, bite your lip and let it go."

He sighed heavily and nodded. "Okay, I'll give it a try. Anything's better than having to walk home in the rain." He smiled an uncertain smile. It was the best I was going to get.

"Anyway," I said, slipping on my shoes. "I'd better get to work. See you later" I leant over and kissed him.

"Love you," he said.

And I knew he meant it.

*****

It was still only six forty five. Too early for Starbucks and though the gym opened at seven it would be filled with thrusting early morning types, the sort who would have a power breakfast afterwards. I didn't fancy it. I drove straight to work.

I liked being at the _Gazette_ at this hour. Only a handful of people in, the office still slumbering before the chaos of the day ahead. Even Eric was comparatively quiet this early, as if his loud, obnoxious self hadn't woken up yet. I wandered over to the coffee machine, got a number four and a number seven and took them into Emmet's office, the strong sweet smell prompting him to lift his head from his copy of _The Times_.

"Oh, thanks Bella," he said as I put the number seven in front of him. Emmet would never think to ask why I was in so early. He found it odd that the other people weren't as keen to get to work as he was. The bags under his eyes looked larger than usual, as if carrying two weeks' shopping instead of one. I noticed how gaunt his face was as well. Clearly the situation at home hadn't improved.

"How's things?" I said.

"Oh, you know," he shrugged and raised his eyebrows.

"I don't know, Emmet, that's why I'm asking."

"Phil's taking voluntary redundancy," he said.

"Good. No great loss. Anyone else?"

"A couple have been in to discuss terms, nothing definite."

Emmet went back to staring at the paper, though I could tell his eyes weren't focusing.

"And what about at home'" I asked, determined to drag it out of him.

Emmet let go of a long sigh and shrugged again. His face was empty, expressionless. As if he'd given up all hope.

"I take it that means Rosalie's still there" I said, taking a sip of my coffee.

"And that Derek. Makes things awkward. It's not that I don't like him. He seems a decent enough sort of chap."

"Emmet, he's shagging your wife under your roof." I said, throwing my hands up in the air.

"I know. I can hear them some nights,"

"Fucking hell," I got up form the chair and started pacing about. "Why didn't you throw her out like I said?"

"I tried to, but she just laughed and said I'd have to throw all her things out and change the locks."

"And what's wrong with that?"

Emmet pulled a face. "People don't do things like that, not in Solihull."

"I don't suppose many people shack up with somebody else's wife in Solihull either."

Emmet shrugged again. I wanted to rip his arms from his shoulders and use the to prop his pride up.

"I'm not going to drag her out kicking and screaming. I couldn't do that to the boys."

"How are they."

"Hard to say. Their Playstation games seem to be getting more violent, but maybe's that's a stage they're going through."

I shook my head. He was brilliant newspaper editor, but he seemed to find the domestic front mind-boggingly difficult.

"So how long are you going to go on living like this?" I said, sitting down again to finish my coffee.

"I don't know. She might get bored of him by Christmas. Depends on what he gets her for a present. I never seem to get the right thing. Women can be very odd about presents, you know."

I smiled weakly, wondering if Emmet could find a use for a wind-up torch.

"Drink your coffee," I said, as I headed for the door, "Before it gets cold."

Alice announced her arrival at ten past eight by kicking over a waste paper bin and knocking the business editor's coffee off his desk. I'd briefed her before on the art of slipping in quietly if you were late but somehow she never managed it. She collapsed on to her chair looking as if she'd scaled Everest and swum the Channel on her way in.

"I've got some good news for you." I said.

Alice took a brush from her bag and scraped her hair back into a small pony tail. "Don't tell me, Kurt Cobain is back from the dead and wants my phone number." She said.

"No, but Phil's taken voluntary redundancy. Only one more to go and you're safe."

"Great," she said, fishing in her bag again and producing a purple scrunchy which she tied around her hair.

"I thought you'd be pleased." I said, frowning at her.

"I'm ecstatic. I'm just tired. Didn't get much sleep last night."

I remembered she'd told me she was going to some club in Digbeth with Jazz.

"Was it an all-nighter then?" I said.

"We didn't go in the end. Had a change of plans" she said, switching on her computer and pulling her notebook from under a pile of papers.

"Oh, why was that?"

"Jazz had to go somewhere with Davina."

"Who's she?" I said. It wasn't like Alice to be so reticent.

"The new singer in his band. They had to go and see some guy about a gig."

I noticed the red rims round Alice's eyes as she glanced up. And the quivering tone in her voice.

"Ladies' loos. Now." I said.

I stood up and waited for Alice to stumble to her feet before marshalling her out of the office and along the corridor. The loos smelt of Elnett hairspray (the one in the gold can that they in hairdressers which haven't been refitted since the seventies.) Emmet's secretary Doreen used it on her hair approximately every fifteen minutes, presumably concerned that the fanning of a few sheets of A4 could spoil her immaculate coiffeur. The haze coupled with our breathing difficulties indicated that we had not long missed her.  
"I don't know why you're making such a fuss of this. I'm fine." Said Alice.

"You said you didn't get much sleep."

"I'm a bit stressed, that's all."

"What does she look like, this Davina."

Alice walked up to the sinks and stared in the mirror at a spot on he chin.

"A younger version of Courtney Love." She said.

"How young?"

She was squeezing the spot now. I had to look away.

"Straight out of sixth form young." She said.

"And is it her you don't trust or Jasper?"

"it's not a matter of trust." Said Alice, rinsing her hands under the tap. "Me and Jazz have an open relationship.

I raised my eyebrows. I didn't buy this at all.

"And does it swing both ways, the door on your open relationship?"

"If I want it to," said Alice, drying her hands on a paper towel.

"Except you don't, do you? You'd rather the door was firmly closed."

"I'm fine wit things how they are, thank you," she said, stuffing the towel into the overflowing bin. "We're not like you and Jacob."

My back stiffened as she turned to me.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" I said.

"You know, all cosy and coupley, quiet nights in and home-cooked lentil pie."

"Are you taking the piss?"

"No," she said. "Simply stating the facts."

I felt the indignation rising. My skin beginning to prickle.

"Jacob took me out last night, actually. For a surprise birthday meal."

"Okay, chill out." She said. "I believe you."

"You make us sound like some boring old farts."

Alice sighed and shook her had. "I wasn't saying that at all. Have I stepped on a raw nerve or something?"

"Jacob and I are fine the way we are, thank you."

"I didn't say you weren't. Honestly Bella, that's got into you this morning?"

Before I had a chance to reply, Doreen entered, brandishing her can of hairspray.

"Hello ladies," she tweeted before giving Alice's tangles a disapproving stare. Alice hurried out before Doreen could offer her grooming advice. I followed a few seconds later, troubled by my reaction. I was supposed to be listening to Alice's problems and yet somehow mine had got in the way. I should have told her about my row with Jacob. But I hadn't wanted to reveal the chink in my armour. Or her to guess who had chipped it away.

****************

I popped out for a sandwich at lunchtime, stopping off to see my favourite _Big Issue _ seller on the way back. He was standing in his usual spot, stamping his feet to keep them warm, the pink tips of his finbers poking out from his fingerless gloves. The bruises had almost gone from his face; in fact he was looking decidedly chipper.

"Great, thanks," he said, greeting me with a huge smile. "I'm really enjoying iy. I was just telling Edward."

I looked at him quizzically.

"He popped by to see me on his way back to the Council House," said Colin.

"Oh, right," replied.

"He told me it was your birthday yesterday," said Colin. "You should have said."

"Don't be daft. It's no big deal."

"Well, happy thirty-first birthday, anyway."

"Thanks," Is aid, aware that Edward must have told him how old I was.

"I suppose it's a bit of a comedown after last year. Did you have a big party for your thirtieth?" asked Colin.

" Er,no. I didn't actually."

"I remember Edward's thirtieth birthday party" continued Colin, completely disregarding my answer. "You and him dancing together, all in black you were, like that pair from _Grease_."

I smiled politely, wondering if they'd talked about anything else apart from me. "That was a long time ago, Colin."

"I know. Edward remembered it, though. Even told me what song you were dancing to. 'Brown Eyed Girl' by Van Morrison he said it was."

"Um, probably, I can't remember."

"Too many parties since then, eh?"

"Yeah, something like that. Anyway," I said, trying not to sound flustered, "I'd better be getting back."

"Of course," said Colin, "See you soon"

I made my way back to the office, singing the song in my head. A lightness in my step. Remembering Edward's touch. Realising I was losing control again.

*********

"where are you going?" asked Jacob. It was early Saturday evening, we hadn't made any plans but he still looked disappointed as I put my shoes on.

"Out," I said, feeling at once like a truculent teenager. Things had been rather strained since Thursday evening but I knew I should at least aim to be grown up about this. I tried again.

"I'm going round to see Alice. She's having problems with Jasper, could do with a shoulder to cry on and a video and a pizza to cheer her up. I might stay over, I'll text you to let you know."

Jacob looked at me hard. Obviously not wanting me to go but deciding not to say so.

"No problem. I've got loads of marking to do." He said. "Yu have a good time."

It felt like he was reading from the script of _How to make up after a row_. What he didn't realise was how difficult he was making things by being so reasonable. I opened the door.

"Bella," he called after me. I turned around. "You look really nice." He said. I smiled weakly, for once wishing he hadn't paid the compliment.

I stepped outside, my black linen trousers flapping in the breeze, and made it to the car before I started hyperventilating. I looked at the reflection in the rear view mirror. I wasn't sure whom I saw any more. Or who was in control.

The car started second time. I set off, switching in my head to automatic pilot, feeling less culpable that way. The Hagley Road was busy, people heading out for the night. I waited in the filter lane for the traffic lights to turn green, giving me permission to carry on. To cross to the other side. I remembered exactly where to go. I pulled up outside. I didn't have to go any further. I could turn round now and go home, make some excuse to Jacob, no one need ever know. I wasn't going to do that though. Not now when I was within touching distance.

I stepped out of the car, feeling as unsteady on my feet a if I was wearing a pair of stilettos. I wasn't. I'd dug a pair out of the depths of the wardrobe but had to put them back because they looked far too obvious. FF shoes, Alice called them. Follow me, Fuck me. Not that Alice was the fount of all wisdom. But on some things she was spot on.

I made my way up the short path and rang the bell to what seemed like a lifetime before the door opened and a scruffy Pooh bear glove puppet appeared round the edge accompanied by a squeaky voice asking, "Did you forget someone?"

For a second it occurred to me that I might have got the wrong place. But I knew I hadn't because despite the Disney tones I recognised the voice.

"Er, no, I don't think so."

Pooh disappeared and Edward's head poked round the door from a, surprise etched in his face and his voice.

"Bella. I thought you were…"

"Eeyore or Piglet?" I enquired.

Edward grinned. "My daughter's not long left. She forgot Pooh."

I nodded, trying to conceal th hurt clawing at my insides. We stood s moment longer, neither of us saying anything.

"So, is the offer still open?" I asked eventually.

"What offer?"

I froze for a second, worried it had been a joke.

"You wanted to help me celebrate my birthday."

"Yes, of course. You said you were busy though. I thought I'd been snubbed. That's why the flat's a mess and I haven't got any food in. I was going to order a takeaway but if you fancy going out…"

"It's okay," I said. "A takeaway will be fine."

Edward smiled and held the door open. I stepped inside, straight into the main room, which was furnished as I'd imagined. Two small leather sofas, a round glass topped table and four high-backed chairs at the far end. Laminated wood floor, a couply of rugs, blinds at the windows. It could have almost been one of the show rooms at Ikea, purchased as a job lot and reassembled at rooms at home. Almost but no quite. Because spread all over the floor were an assortment od plastic toys in bright primary colours, left where they'd been dropped in favour of something more exciting. A trail of havoc and happiness. They didn't do that at Ikea. It didn't come flat-pack.

My eyes took it all in, registering it and having to readjust the mental image I had of Edward on my minds. And my gaze finally rested on the photograph on the coffee table. A smooth, flawless pixie-face beaming out of a mess of soft bronze curls, eyes sparkling, lips smeared with what looked like chocolate ice cream. She was unmistakably Edward's daughter. I swallowed hard.

"Is that Jess?" I asked. Stupid question, said to buy me more time to compose myself.

"Yeah. I've got a proper studio one somewhere but I prefer that, it's more her."

I nodded, as if I was well versed in the posed versus natural child portrait issue.

"She's gorgeous."

"Thank you. She's very bright for her age too. Takes after her dad."

He was smiling as he said it. The word 'dad' rankled. As did the pride in Edward's voice.

"I never had you down as the family type." I said.

Edward looked as awkward as I felt.

"It was Tanya's idea, having a baby. I went along with it, stupidly thinking it would bring us closer together. It didn't work, of course. But at least we've got Jess. Wouldn't be without her for the world. I love her to bits. We both do."

His eyes were glistening. Mine too. Trying to put the images of him with his newborn daughter to the back of my mind.

"So you said you see her most weekends?"

"Yeah. I pick her up on Saturday morning and Tanya doesn't collect her until six. Sometimes she lets her stay over, if she wants a night out. She's seeing someone else, some hotshot corporate lawyer. Robert his name is. Jess calls him Rob."

Edward said through gritted teeth. It was obviously a sore point.

"Anyway," he said, seemingly keen to change the subject, "sit down and let me get you a coffee,"

I perched on the edge of the sofa as he disappeared into the kitchen, shutting the door behind him. Perhaps he needed a moment. I certainly did. This wasn't how it used to be at all. We were awkwardly tiptoeing around each other's feelings, trying not to trip over Tweenies tea sets in the process. Maybe I'd got it all horribly wrong. Made a complete fool of myself by turning up here. Maybe I should go. I stood up as the kitchen door swung open and Edward came back in carrying two mugs of coffee. Plain white mugs, no complications. I wondered if he usually used a 'Best Dad in the World' mug but though better of it.

"Look, if you want me to go I won't be offended," I said, "I should have rung first. I probably shouldn't have come at all.

Edward put the mugs on the table, turned to me placed his hands on my shoulders and pushed me down on to the sofa.

"Sit down, shut up for a second and listen. I'm glad you came. I wasn't expecting it, that's all. I was thrown for a minute, maybe even a little nervous. But the one thing I'm sure of is that I don't want you to go."

I nodded, reached for my coffee and went to take a sup, only I couldn't because it was still too hot. I pretended anyway before putting it down.

"Right," said Edward, "Now we've got that sorted out, let's order some food. I don't know about you but I'm starving. What do you fancy, pizza, curry or Chinese?"

"Chinese, please," I said. It was the only thing that Jacob didn't cook and I felt the need to be different.

"Sure. Hang on a sec, I'll get the menu."

He rang order over while I drank my coffee, trying to stop my eyes from wandering back to Jess' photo.

"It'll be here in fifteen minutes," he said as he put the phone down. I nodded, hoping my stomach would have stopped turning somersaults by then.

"It was good to see Colin again," said Edward. "I was with him in the pub until closing time, you know, after you left on Monday evening."

"Really? What did you talk about?"

"A lot of council chit-chat; he misses all that stuff. And how much we've all changed. Especially you. About how much older you seem, how serious you've become."  
"Yeah, well. That's what life does to you."

"Or what you do to punish yourself," said Edward quietly.

I looked at Edward, floored by the accusation an the tone of his voice.

"What do you mean?" I said.

"You, going all worthy. Stopping doing all the things you used to enjoy."

"No I haven't," I said, putting my empty mug down with a clatter on the coffee table.

"Yu as good as admitted it, the other night in the gym."

"Three things I said I didn't do any more. That was all."

"On top of the two I'd already found out about." Said Edward, his voice now firm and measured compared to my squeaks. I shifted on the sofa, feeling under an unwarranted attack.

"There's plenty of things I still do."  
"Good. How's the salsa dancing going?" said Edward.

"Er, I don't go anymore." I said, my cheeks reddening. "I don't really have the time."

"Too busy helping Jacob save the planet."

"It's not like that."  
"It sure looks it to me."

I got up from the sofa and walked over to the patio doors, staring out into the darkness. I didn't want to hear this. I'd put a lot of effort into creating the new Bella. To make sure she was beyond criticism.

"SO what do you want me to do?" I snapped at him, turning back, "Start going to raves, take up rollerblading, join a circus?"

Edward looked at me reproachfully and shook his head. "I'd simply like to see you enjoying yourself again. Having fun."

I snorted a laugh.

"Remember what happened when I had fun?" I said, "You were sitting next to him in the pub on Monday night,"

Edward got up form the sofa and walked over to me. He put one hand lightly on my shoulder.

"You can't hold yourself responsible for Colin's downfall, Bella."

"Why not? I'm the one who didn't vote for him. Because I was with you."

He turned me round to face him, holding both of my shoulders now.

"Why don't you tell him? Come clean. It might ease that conscience of yours. I'm sure he wouldn't have a problem with it."

"I will do," I said, looking down. "I'm just waiting for the right time."

"I bet you've voted at every election since." Said Edward.

"Yep. Learnt my lesson. Not to listen to people who say that no one ever loses by one vote."

Edward managed a dry smile.

"I dind't mean to have a go, Bella. I just want you to be happy. To stop beating yourself up about what happened in the past. Believe me, it doesn't do any good."

"I know," I said, looking at him in the eye, feeling the warmth of his touch. We stood there for a moment, both of us unsure about what to do next.

"I'd better get the table ready. The food will be here soon." Said Edward, letting go and disappearing into the kitchen.

He emrged a few minutes later with a bottle of red wine for himself, some sparkling water for me and a couple of candles in black metal holders.

"If we're going to do this, we may as well do it properly." He said, placing the candles centrally on the table and lighting them.

I wasn't sure exactly what he was referring to. Or why I was here, having dinner in his flat. All I knew was that by the time the food arrived I had that familiar churning feeling in my stomach again

"Cheers," Edward said, raising his glass as we sat down at the table. "Happy birthday," My hand was shaking as our glasses clinked together. I wondered if he noticed. Edward had only taken one bite of his spring roll when the doorbell rang.

"Sorry," he said, jumping to his feet, "Better see who it is."

I knew what he was thinking. That it could be Jess returning for Pooh. And if it was, Tanya would see me and want to know what I ws doing here and it would all get horribly messy and uncomfortable.

I peered round the corner as Edward opened the front door. It wasn't Jess and Tanya but a young woman, barely out of her teens, small and sinewy as she stood there in a black leather jacket, miniskirt and stilettos, holding a bottle of wine in her looked straight past Edwatd to me, her face dropping and her cheeks flushing.

"OH, you've got company. I'm really sorry, I had no idea."

"Hello, Chairmane," said Edward, "I'm not used to seeing you without your gardening overalls. What can I do for you?"

The young woman looked floored. Presumably she'd thought she had his exclusive attention. Had decided that tonight was the night she would make her move.

"Erm, the lawn," she stuttered eventually. "I'm here to mow the lawn."  
It was a Saturday evening and pitch black outside. People don't mow lawns in the dark in November, even I knew that. I suspected Edward knew it too, but he obviously decided to spare her blushes.

"Right," he said, looking down at her stilettos. "Are you sure you're going to be okay in those shoes?"

"Yeah, no problem. It won't take long, I promise. Sorry to have disturbed you."  
She disappeared from view and Edward came back into the room with a grin on his face.

"Before you say anything, I should point out that she's the gardener. And that the landlord hired her, not me."

"And you had no idea?" I asked, as he sat back down at the table.

"What, that she's got a crush on me? It's no big deal."

"It obviously is to her. The poor girl was mortified. Imagine it, she's probably spent weeks working up the courage to do this. Her big seduction scene. And I go and screw it up by being here with you."

"I'd have blown her out anyway," said Edward with a twinkle in his eye.

"I hope so. She only looks like twenty one."

"you weren't much older when I met you."

"That was different," I said, "And a long time ago."

We were interrupted by the whirr of an electric lawnmower. A few seconds later the outside security light flicked on to reveal Chairmane sinking into the ground in her stilettos, as she defiantly pushed the Flymo across Edward's grass.

We both burst out laughing. "Maybe she thinks the heels will aerate the lawn." Edward said. "Like those big spiky shoes they used to advertise in the Innovations catalogue"

He raised his wine glass to Chairmaine though the window before I pulled his arm down.

"Don't be a bastard," I said. "This will probably screw her up for life. It'll be her cross to bear for falling for you."

"Honestly, I haven't done anything to encourage her." Said Edward as Chairmaine disappeared into the darkness at the far end of the garden.

"You don't have to, do you? It's your magnetic charm. Women are suckers for it."  
Edward smiled and looked down at his plate.

"Is that what it was for you?" he said,

"Something like that."

"And what about now?"

I pushed my bean sprouts around the plate. The truth was I dind't know why I was there. I knew I shouldn't. That it was wrong. And I didn't do bad things. Not any more. But I could hear the old Bella calling, screaming to be let out. Hammering on the door of her tower as her prince prepared to ride off into the sunset. Alone.

"Nostalgia maybe," I said. "Or curiosity about what could have been."

"Or still could be?" asked Edward, as the light flicked on again for Chairmaine's return leg.

I wiped a trace of sweet and sour sauce from my lips and looked down at my plate, unable to answer.

"We were good together, Bella. You know that."

"Yeah, so good you married someone else."

Edward looked away, hurt pouring form his face. He took a few moments to gather himself.

"And why do you think it didn't work out?" he said.

"You drifted apart, you said so."

"Because every time we made love I used to shut my eyes and see you."

I dropped my fork on the plate and put my trembling hand under the table where he couldn't see it. He didn't mean that. He was saying it to make mefeel better. To get me to lower my defences. To ease his way back into my life. I couldn't allow that to happen. However much I wanted it to.

"I'm with Jacob now," I said.

"No you're not," Edward said, reaching out across the table to take my hand. "You're here with me."  
I watched as his fingers closed around time. Fitting perfectly together, like we were made for each other. I felt the connection restored between us. The buzz pulsing through my body, awakening something deep inside. I tried to pull away but it didn't move. I didn't have the strength to resist any longer.

We waited until after the meal. Until after Chairmaine had trudged away, her feet coated with mud. It seemed only decent. I dind't want to rub her face on it. I knew how that felt. We even waited until after our coffee. It wasn't self control that made us wait. Certainly not on my part. It was guilt. The guilt of knowing that Jacob was sitting at home marking English essays, thinking I was doing my Good Samaritan bit with Alice. I'd lied. I was a cheat. But for the first time in years I'd found something that outweighed my guilt. My love for the man who was sitting next to me on the sofa. About lo lean over and kiss me. And I knew he was going to. I remembered the taste of those kisses. The way you remember the taste of your first alcoholic drink.

"I've missed you," he whispered, "The real you."

He kissed me on the lips. I started unbuttoning his shirt. That was the thing with the taste of your first drink. It inevitably left you wanting more.

*******

It was gone midnight when Edward finally drifted off to sleep with me in his arms. I slithered out of bed, being careful not to wake him, and tiptoed into the living room, fumbling in the dark for my handbag. I turned my mobile on and started to text Jacob that I was staying over. Before I had the chance to finish, the phone beeped with a message. I called it up.

"Figure you're needed there. See you in the morning. Love you x"

I turned it off and crept into bed with Edward. Hating myself as I did so.

**LIKE? HATE? DISGUST? Whatever it is, please REVIEW! I love to know what you think! I think this is one of my favourite chapters until now...I know all of you hate Edward with a passion but I don't think he is that bad NOW. Before,yes, he was an asshole. But I think now he has realised how much he has hurt Bella and just wants to see her happy, even if it not with him. Whatever ;D**

**REVIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW! (L)**

**-Angel on Air**


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